


The Flight

by antebunny



Series: a fight you were born to (lose) [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: ANGST OF THE BLACK BROS, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood Magic, Child Abuse, Found Family, Gen, Heavy Angst, Internal Monologue, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Lots of it, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Runes, The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, but it does get much better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2020-11-27 07:53:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 47,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20944904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antebunny/pseuds/antebunny
Summary: Sirius wakes up in the cellar.It's not the first time this has happened, although it hasn't happened in a while, but this time–he thinks, he knows–this time is different.There's a throbbing in his wrist and an ache behind his eyes and the insidious feeling that something went wrong last night, something that was beyond his control.Sirius is fifteen and knows: it's time to leave home.(or: a fight that never happened and the flight that could have been)





	1. the escape

**Author's Note:**

> *warning: there's a lot of internal monologuing
> 
> *like a lot a lot

Sirius didn’t know how long it took him to get up. It could’ve been hours after he’d woken up, which could’ve been hours since he’d been tossed down here. It could even be a few minutes. Being locked in the cellar was nothing unusual. It happened once or twice to him every summer since he started Hogwarts but no more than four times. His parents usually let him out after a few hours. A couple times it had been all day, but given that _ it _ had been dinnertime, he’d probably spent the night here already. When Sirius woke up, he’d stayed face-up on the stone floor, just breathing and shaking off the ache of the several curses. _ Merlin. _He couldn’t believe his parents had actually–

The hairs on the back of his neck prickled just thinking about it. He couldn’t believe what his parents were willing to do to make him fit their image of a proper son. But he wasn’t Regulus. He could never do it, no matter how hard he tried. He’d like to stay he stopped trying long ago (but that wasn’t quite true). 

Well, all things considered, his family had done worse. Marius Black had been almost literally thrown out of his home at eleven years old for being a Squib. Sirius had never thought about what happened to him before. A child with no knowledge of the Muggle world, left in the middle of the street. Cygnus and Violetta Black seemed a lot crueler to Marius than Sirius’s parents to Sirius last night. 

Sirius’s ears strained to hear a noise from outside the cellar door. His eyes stayed closed. He lay on his side, sticking his hands in his dress robes to keep them warm. He’d been down here so many times he knew exactly where he was; the very center of the room, where the ancient runes had been carved into the stones. There were steps behind him, leading up to the door that was magically locked with at least seven curses. It was the magic number, after all. But knowing his parents, it probably had thirteen curses, all with inventive ways to incapacitate someone. He’d only tried to open the door once. 

Quiet. His own labored breathing. 

That was all he could hear, and Sirius, for once, hoped that nobody came. He wasn’t ready to stand up, much less face his parents. He was starving, and his left wrist still ached every time he moved it, like his bones didn’t like the way he pulled his skin over them. He was freezing in his dress robes, his head still hurt, and he was so tired. Not sleepy-tired. He just…

Sirius squeezed his eyes shut and tried his hardest not to cry again. His eyes were probably already red. They didn’t need to be any redder. This was the worst shape he’d ever been in when he ended up in the cellar. He just wanted to sleep and wait for his parents to let him out. 

He wished they would just disown him. He could probably go live with James. But James was in India for the summer and wouldn’t return for another nine days (yes, he’d been counting), Remus hated him, and Peter…well, without his owl, he didn’t have a way of communicating with Peter. 

Mistakes. Whenever Sirius (or Regulus, but mainly just Sirius) did something wrong, Father would make him say his mistakes out loud. Sirius still wasn’t entirely sure why, but at the very least it was excruciatingly humiliating. He hadn’t done it for two years or so–he usually stomped (fled) up to his room until Walburga’s rage had cooled. Even so, Sirius had a decade’s worth of recounting his mistakes, and so now, wallowing in his hair loss, trying not to think of past events, he couldn’t help but wonder; what had gone so horribly wrong?

He’d refused his parents point-blank. They hated being defied. Especially in front of Regulus, who they still had control over. Sirius had done both. That was his first mistake. He should’ve explained why he shouldn’t join their death cult. For example, _ Voldemort would never want him. _ His parents seemed to think that the Death Eaters were the latest trend, and they wanted Sirius to jump on the bandwagon so the Black House could be in before it was too late. He was a wizard with the right idea, finally ridding the wizarding house of all the Undesirables; Muggleborns, halfbloods, blood traitors, halfbreeds, Muggles, etc. That was, of course, the first reason why Sirius would never join him, alongside the fact that he was the suspected culprit for several murders. (But they were Muggles, so who cares, right)? It seemed to Sirius that Voldemort wanted to control the House of Black; after all, he mainly used Lucius to fund all his escapades. Sirius wouldn’t be surprised if Abraxas Malfoy died from a sudden dragon pox soon. But Walburga and Orion didn’t think Voldemort posed any sort of threat to _ them. _And Sirius’ grandfather, Arcturus, current Head of House Black, seemed content to shut himself up in the Black Family Manor and let his son and daughter-in-law (and first cousin once removed, ew) run the family business. 

Sirius had egged his mother on. He knew how volatile her temper was, and he knew how she was like when she was mad, but the words came spilling out, as always. He never seemed to be able to stop talking. Of course, he didn’t know how serious they were, because the whole scenario was completely ridiculous to him. Yes, his mother was slapping his across the face but she did that usually once a month. No, he didn’t want to get hurt, but somewhere in the back of his mind he just couldn’t believe that his parents were _ serious. _ Then it had escalated, but by the time he realized that his parents were _ desperate, _it’d been too late. Blacks never took well to insults. 

Okay, so he’d had no idea how serious his parents were. Or how close they were to exploding after once more ‘defiance’ from him. Either way, it didn’t matter. He had no idea they would react the way they did. Evidently they hoped (or knew, and wasn’t that terrifying) that if Sirius got the Mark he would be easier to control. He did have to go to Hogwarts, after all. The worst part was that they were right: Sirius would never be able to face his friends with the brand of a murderer on his arm. Not after little Kingsley Shacklebolt’s father and uncle were murdered (so much for blood purity) in their own homes. Not after the sixth year Muggleborn Rowena Wormwood was found naked, alone and terrified by the edge of the Forbidden Forest _ for a bit of fun. _ Not after Francine and Bailey Alexander, two powerful Muggleborn siblings, ended up screaming for _ reaching above their station. _ Sirius knew that if he had been Marked and then waited until James returned from India to run away, James’s first question would be, _ why didn’t you leave before? _ And he would have no answer. _ Well, congratulations, you’re not Marked, _Sirius thought to himself bitterly. 

So that conversation could have gone better. They sprung getting Marked on him and he reacted as if he didn’t believe them, because he didn’t. They hadn’t even gotten to the second course before they sent Regulus out of the room and–

Well, as soon as they sent Reggie away Sirius knew exactly what was coming. The only shocking part were the _ reasons _they flung at him. That was the only part Sirius wanted to forget ever happened. 

Sure, his father only remembered Bertram Aubrey’s name so that he could use it against Sirius, but Bertram Aubrey wasn’t supposed to have ended up in the Hospital Wing. If Sirius hadn’t picked a fight with him, he wouldn’t have been there in the first place. _ He picked a fight with me first _ , Sirius thought mulishly. _ He should’ve known better. _After all, Blacks never took well to insults. 

Sirius curled his hands into fists in an attempt to keep them warm. He knew he was shivering, but he couldn’t find the will to move. He squeezed his eyes tight and red spots under his eyelids. They didn’t obscure the wet feeling of tears slipping down his face. While he wasn’t surprised that his parents were delighted by the idea of him being a murderer, he couldn’t believe that _ they thought he was basically a murderer. _He wasn’t sure if his fists were shaking from cold, anger, fear, or all three. He thought about what they’d said, and decided it was fear. 

“I’m not a bully,” Sirius whispered into the darkness. The stones seemed unimpressed. It wasn’t like he and his friends had “chosen” Snape because he was a halfblood. Remus and Peter were halfbloods. And sure, he’d been aware Bertram Aubrey was a Muggleborn before the incident, but that hadn’t meant anything. It didn’t have anything to do with what happened. (Although he hadn’t even known that _ mudblood _was an insult until James had looked at him, horrified, as if he’d never seen him before—)

Sirius sat up. Merlin, he was so hungry. He’d already been starving when he came down for dinner. Had it been a day? A few hours? A few minutes?

The loss of his hair was a physical blow. It was the only thing he inherited from his family that he took pride in. Now he was left with frayed locks curling by his cheek bones and split hairs forming a bald spot on the top of his head. He felt off balance. 

Despite all this, Sirius’s immediate thought was not to run away. He’d considered it before, but his parents never really had a problem with him spending most of his summer at the Potters. His first thought was just to wait. Father would come and let him out eventually, he and Mother would take turns lecturing/yelling at him, he would looked appropriately contrite, and then life would get back to normal. Within a week, there would be no objections to him going to the Potters for the rest of the summer. The only visible sign of last night’s dinner would be the lack of hair, and that was easily fixable, given that James’ parents owned Sleekeazy’s Hair Potions. Everything would be fine. Nobody would ever know, and he wouldn’t have to see his parents for another year. It all sounded so wonderfully easy. 

Except. Last night hadn’t been like other times. Not even in terms of what they said, but rather what they _ did. _It seemed to Sirius that every month his parents would lose it and send Regulus out of the room, so this time he thought he knew what was coming; he thought he knew how to deal with it. 

He’d been wrong. 

His ribs began to shake, and Sirius realized that he was sobbing. _ Pathetic, _ his mother’s voice hissed at him from the dust-coated stones. _ Blacks do not snivel. _ Blacks do not take well to insults, Blacks do not compromise, Blacks do not lose, Blacks do not get Sorted into Gryffindor, Blacks do not disrespect their House, Blacks do not put anyone but Blacks first, Blacks do not dally with those of impure blood, _ Merlin _Sirius was so sick of it. 

His parents weren’t giving this up. The House of Black did not compromise. The House of Black did not lose, even to itself. His mother would rather burn him off the tree than let him _ not _ get Marked. He really should have seen this coming. He’d been taking more and more liberties every summer, and he thought his parents had been _ letting _him. He purposefully broke his silver door knob after his second year, on the off chance that Remus came over for some ungodly reason. His mother kept on having refitted with another silver door knob while he was at Hogwarts, but eventually she gave up. Sirius was currently using two copper wires twisted together as a key, keeping it in his pocket every time he left his room. 

The cuts around his head had faded remarkably fast, even for a wizard. The one on his ear had disappeared already, and he knew his mother was no lightweight when it came to curses. Sirius slowed his breathing and sat up, instinctively reaching to brush his hair behind his shoulders, only to hit empty air. He rubbed his frozen fingers over his eyes. _ No more sniveling, _he told himself firmly. 

Sirius’ thoughts turned over and over in an endless cycle of self-doubt, rage, and pity. He thought of his parents, his brother radiating the sickly stench of Dark magic, minestrone soup, the Dark Mark, and facing his friends. Merlin, if he’d had to see them, or anyone at Hogwarts, with the Dark Mark on his arm, he didn’t think he could live with himself. All in all, he knew one thing:

He had to leave. 

Sirius had never cared about the privilege that came with being Heir. Maybe that was selfish of him, to instantly have what so many Muggleborns struggled for and not care. But he would give it all up, even Regulus, for the chance to have James’ parents. There were more pitfalls to being a Black than anybody realized. Except for James and his parents, who had…seen a couple when he escaped his family over Christmas or Easter holidays. But there was a downside to being from House Black that he’d never let James see: he knew there were still Gryffindors who thought that he was going to “betray” them. That even though the Sorting Hat had put him in Gryffindor, he was still a Black at heart. He saw it in the way first years scuttled away from him and not James, their whispers and cautious glances whenever he laughed too loudly. _ He enjoys it, _ they said. _ Causing fear and pain and humiliation, just like a Black! _Which was ridiculous, because James did too, but no, he was a Potter, the family famous for hair products and potions. (Rather ironic, considering James’ total lack of skill when it came to potions). 

The so-called “Light” side would never fully trust him, but he would never ever join the so-called “Dark” side. He would never be able to give up James, the Marauders, early morning Quidditch practice, or tallying Evans-Evading-Prongs with Remus and Peter, even now that Remus wouldn’t talk to him. 

Sirius wouldn’t join the Death Eaters, and his parents wouldn’t stop trying to make him. So they were going to kick him off the family tree eventually, or they would just leave him here in the cellar until he became the crazy uncle in the basement that nobody talks about, or dead. Sirius didn’t like any of those options. 

So he had to leave. The sooner the better, because at some point Sirius would collapse. 

-OoOoO-

The thing about the Black Manor wards is that they were made to keep non-Blacks out and Blacks in. Blacks weren’t particularly unused to traitors. Kick somebody off the family tree, and they’d still have an easy time breaking in. You could say all you want that you weren’t related to them, but the truth of the matter was that your blood ran in their veins, so the wards would still count them as Blacks. See, the Black Manor wards weren’t meant to keep traitors _ out _ . They were made to lock traitors _ in_. 

Sirius stared again at the cellar door again. After the last time he’d promised himself never to touch it again, but it was the only way out of the cellar. He rubbed the back of his neck with his frozen fingers. 

The thing about the Blacks was that they assumed they knew all the secrets. Sure, they played the “political game”, hunted for gossip, etc., but when it came to the Blacks? Who knew the Blacks better than the Blacks? Only they knew what was in their extensive Dark Arts library. Only they knew what secret spells and enchantments lay within the Black Family grimoire. And blimey, did they love their secrets. Most Blacks had one big secret, but it could never be kept secret forever. Look at his cousin Andromeda Black: fell in love with a Muggleborn Hufflepuff (and conned her parents out of a bigger sum of money than they would care to admit), and now she was disowned by her family. 

Except Sirius had multiple secrets, and nobody in his family knew. That was the thing about traitors. Nobody knew their secret until they did, and then it was gone, _ finito, _no more secrets, no more traitor. And with Sirius so obviously Gryffindor and so obviously a traitor, well, what did he have to hide?

Secret No. 1: one of his friends is a werewolf. Of course, Snape knew, and Sirius had almost gotten said friend killed in big trouble, but the point remained. The loudest year of Gryffindors, and nobody knew one of them was a werewolf. Not his parents, not his brother. 

However, Sirius also happened to be a Black. The same Blacks who had the most extensive library on the Dark Arts in all of Great Britain, possibly the world. One of the oldest wizarding families, period. Certainly the oldest British wizarding family, even though others were more powerful now. (Not that the Blacks would ever admit to it). 

In his third year, when they had been allowed to choose electives, Sirius had chosen Muggle Studies and Care of Magical Creatures. He had James and Peter in Muggle Studies (as a half bloods who knew about the Muggle world, Remus had taken Arithmancy). But none of the other Marauders were in Care of Magical Creatures; they’d all chosen to take Ancient Runes. Sirius would have taken Ancient Runes too, but he just couldn’t stand it. 

See, Sirius was a Black. He’d learned all of the course material they would ever learn before he’d finished his second year, and things they wouldn’t. Blood runes were only briefly touched on in Ancient Runes, more concept rather than practice. Although not a Dark Art, they came dangerously close, for few people were willing to use their own blood, which was what they required above all: a blood sacrifice. 

Stiffly, Sirius fumbled around for copper wire in his pocket that served as his doorknob. He untwisted the ends and dragged the tip of the wire across the cuts on his arm. After twenty seconds of pain and no results, he gave up and started attacking his lip viciously, still crusted with dried blood. It didn’t hurt any less, but at least it distracted him from the throbbing of his right arm that surged when he twitched it. 

Everyone knows that scars are the easiest place on the body to get wounded, especially if they’re new. Few people ever take advantage of this fact. Even fewer ever need to. 

Drawing the rune wasn’t terribly difficult. As long as he refused to think of how Dark it was, or what his friends would think if they knew, or where he’d found it. (He wasn’t like Regulus, he wasn’t like his family, but oh Merlin was he going to stink of Dark magic after this–?) Even though it was his blood, which dried the instant he smeared it on the stone floor. Even though he was tired and shaking and exhausted. Circles and straight lines were harder to get right under these circumstances, but he had to.

After all, Sirius was a Black. No, he hadn’t gone looking for advanced blood runes in case he needed magic, as a student legally not allowed to practice magic outside of school. Only paranoid freaks would do school outside of school. Really, Sirius had only seen it and remembered it. That was all. (Never mind that it was borderline Dark magic and _ what would Prongs say _ or the certainty that his parents would be _ ecstatic _–)

When he was finished, Sirius took off the sash from his robe (it was like a belt, but fancier) and held it over his lips firmly. He waited for a few despairing seconds when the rune did nothing. Had the two breaking concentric circles not been good enough? They were by no means perfect, but surely, _ surely _they were passable. The great thing about runes was that they were so much easier to break than to make if you had access to them. Blood wards could only be broken by a member of the family or someone as powerful as Dumbledore. Sirius waited for what felt like an eternity, all his hopes pinned on that rune. If it failed, he’d have to start over, and he wasn’t a big fan of blood loss. 

The blood rune blazed with a sickly red light and Sirius felt like swooning in relief. He sprang unsteadily to his feet and yanked the door open without a moment’s pause; all thirteen curses had been lifted. The corridor behind it was dimly lit by the red glow of his rune. _ Freedom. _The butterflies that had been having seizures in his stomach settled down, and he resisted the urge to whoop with glee. Sirius grinned maniacally, not wanting to make noise. His rune should have disrupted all the enchantments in the room he was in

Secret No. 2: Sirius Black was an Animagus. He’d become one earlier that same year because of his werewolf friend. 

A large black dog poked his nose into the hallway and cautiously crossed the threshold. A second later, Sirius stood in the hallway, a black shadow invisible in the pitch black corridor. He rested one hand on the wall to get his balance. 

Behind him, the blood red rune light died down, and the dimly lit corridor ahead of him disappeared into blackness. 

-oOoOo-

Sirius had made his way out of the cellar several times before. Mother used to come down and demand an apology, but more recently, his father would simply open the door and leave, letting Sirius make his way out by himself. Which he preferred, honestly, even if his mother was usually waiting for him to get one last yelling in. He’d never snuck out before with the intent of keeping quiet so as to not wake Kreacher. He’d never snuck out with the intention of never coming back. 

The hallways of the basement all had carpeted stone floors. There were no floorboards to creak by stepping in the wrong crack. He didn’t dare go upstairs to where the sleeping quarters were, in order to collect a few things–like his wand, if his parents hadn’t snapped it already. So Sirius made his way through the long, twisted hallways, avoiding enchanted armour sets that liked to attack you and paintings that shrieked if you woke up the inhabitants by breathing too loudly. The doors on either side led to storage rooms filled with Dark artefacts that were really best left alone. He transformed back into Padfoot. It was much easier to navigate in the dark with dog senses. It would be impossible for anyone who didn’t live there. But this was his house. He knew it, even if he wanted to forget it. 

He found the staircase. It seemed a lot bigger as a dog. He couldn’t even see the portrait of Pollux Black, but he knew it was there somewhere. He paused for a moment. His mother spent most of her time on the first floor, in one of the various parlors or sitting rooms. Going up the stairs would be going right into her lair; his father was usually tucked away in his study, out of sight. Maybe they were waiting for him. Maybe he was blithely about to reveal himself as an unregistered Animagus to his parents. _ Merlin, now you sound like a Black, _ Sirius thought to himself bitterly. _ Nobody is expecting you to get out of the cellar, stop being so paranoid. _

He quickly made his way up the stairs, not allowing himself time to rethink his decision. At the top of the stairs, the first floor of No. 12 Grimmauld Place stretched out before him with the atmosphere of a tomb. 

Sirius briefly considered using the Floo fireplace. His parents always had a bowl with Floo powder on top of the mantle, which Kreacher kept stocked. Of course the green flames would roar loudly and he would shout “Potter residence” loudly, but by the time they realized what had happened he would be gone and ready to camp out at James’ house (or break in through a window) until James came back from India. He wouldn’t look as pathetic by then, either. 

He passed the living room. The fireplace sat cold and silent in the back of the room. Sirius eyed the gate made of metal snakes that would hiss and bite at intruders. Would he count as an intruder? His parents usually sent them on their way with a flick of a wand, but he had neither the skill nor the wand. Speaking of skill, could his parents track the last location the Floo fireplace was used for? And he’d need enough food and water to last nine days, if he couldn’t access any of theirs. And maybe clothes. And a shower. And probably a lot of things he hadn’t thought of yet. 

Even if his parents couldn’t track his location, they’d be able to guess pretty easily. After all, James was his best friend and from an old pureblood family. Their Floo fireplace didn’t go inside the house, after all. It went to a little one-room shed thing just outside the boundary of the Potter grounds and wards. It seemed smarter than having it in the living room, but any unauthorized (non-pureblood) who tried to enter the Black manor would die a horrible death. 

His family would be able to find him anywhere in the magical world, really. They had connections and resources and honestly, they knew the magical world far better than he did. They’d find him within a day. And the gate on the fireplace was charmed, supposedly to keep babies away. (His parents’ take on baby-proofing. And they wondered why he didn’t like snakes). 

He cast one last sorrowful look at the bowl of Floo powder. It seemed so easy, but anywhere in the Magical world was too close to his family. (Excluding the Potter’s manor, which he supposed was still part of the Magical world, because it was warded strongly enough to keep out Blacks). Sirius left the living room behind. Walking as a dog was overall quieter than as a human. His claws clicked softly, but his hearing let him know that nobody was awakened by it. 

He passed the portrait of Irma Black, Walburga’s mother, a former Crabbe who hadn’t even been out of Hogwarts when she gave birth to her first child. Still, it made sense in a twisted way, because Walburga’s father had been thirteen. It was no wonder why Walburga had eventually married her second cousin. Her parents were blood crazy. But still, all three of them had nothing on Irma’s youngest, Cygnus Black (the second). He’d already been so far under the ‘Black Family Madness’ that when he married Druella Rosier, a notoriously cruel and Dark family (they’d invented the Conjunctive Curse, for Merlin’s sake), she’d only lasted a few years before taking her youngest two (Andromeda and Narcissa) off to France with her. 

Andromeda, on the other hand, was still in hiding after marrying Muggleborn Ted Tonks three years ago, although to be fair she’d conned her dowry our of her parents anyway, like a true Slytherin. She still wrote to Sirius, and he’d met her two-year-old daughter towards the end of the last school year. She was a Metamorphmagus, which rather explained why the Blacks were so sore. The Metamorph ability and sister curse Maledictus used to be a trait of the Blacks, one that they, naturally, took pride in. It had disappeared a while back, and they refused to consider that it had anything to do with inbreeding. Now here was Andy, married to a Muggleborn, with her Metamorph daughter. The Blacks were understandably in denial. 

In any case, his family was far too mad for his liking. The portraits were supposedly put up out of respect, to honor the members of the House of Black, but Sirius was fairly certain that his parents only had them to spy on Sirius and Regulus. Irma Black certainly ruined the trend of black, curly-haired Blacks (black haired Blacks? How could his mother resist?) as she had brown, straight hair that none of her children had inherited. His hair was the only familial inheritance that he appreciated and now it was gone. 

Sirius creeped like an apparition past the drawing room. His grandmother’s portrait slept on. His cheek throbbed and his ribs ached from his multiple falls and his arms stung every time Sirius stretched them and felt the pull of a dozen crisscrossing cuts. Hell, even his right ear itched from a miscast _ diffindo. _His left arm hung limply by his side; he was unwilling to move it even though he could only see a few inches in front of his face. 

After what seemed like an eternity, Sirius made his way back to the dining room. Kreacher had clearly cleaned up after him, because no trace of the fight remained. The table and chairs sat up straight, serpents carved around the backs. The chandelier that hung over the table had a glowing charm, rather than candles. It cast a soft white light around the room. Sirius transformed back into a human temporarily to appreciate the light. Kreacher had cleared the entire table off, leaving nothing but polished oak wood. He stilled in the middle of the room. The hallway to his right led to the second floor, where he had left his wand before dinner. But it led to everybody else’s rooms, too. He hadn’t passed any window on his way out, so for all he knew his parents set up the house so that it _ looked _like night, but were in reality in wait for him. But that didn’t make any sense. Why would they go through all that trouble, when they didn’t think he could get out of the cellar? That was his Black paranoia talking again. 

Sirius hesitated between the two hallways, every moment increasing his chances of getting caught. Wand or door. Defense or escape. Fight or flight. Right or straight ahead. There was also a chance that his parents had snapped his wand. Upstairs or out. _ My wand won’t help me anyway, _ he decided. _ If I use it, I’ll get expelled, and I can hardly fight off my parents if they really put their minds to it. _They never had before, but Sirius wasn’t going to risk it. Sirius wondered again how they would respond once they saw the blood rune. He recalled Mother at dinner when she accused him of–of–well, attempted murder, her face filled with garish pride, and surpressed the urge to scream. 

Every hair on his back prickled. He placed one foot in front of the next, shuffling quietly across the floors, fingers brushing against the wall for lack of light. He didn’t know what would happen if his parents woke up right now and caught him. He didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t know what they would think when they saw the blood rune in the cellar, or how it explained his escape (because it didn’t). He didn’t want to think about it. Once he was out of the dining room, he transformed back into a dog. He was too short for the portraits to see this way. 

Oh, he hoped they’d be impressed. Cunning and ambition might be the desired traits, but magic was ultimately what they valued above all. He hoped they’d see the blood rune and regret everything; every insult, every punishment, every scar. He hoped they would know it was too late to ever be sorry, because Sirius got the last laugh, slipping out and destroying the work of a dozen Blacks in the process. He wished that he’d get to hear them say that and apologize, although he knew they never would. . 

(A tiny part of him wanted to come back and see if they could ever love him the way he always wished they would, but Blacks have no use for wishes, much less ridiculous fantasies-)

He passed through the foyer and the antechamber, studiously avoiding the part-animal armchairs that his parents had put in every living room, just for fun. They seemed to think it was funny to see their guests shriek when they realized that being a Black entailed having dangerous magical items everywhere, and treating them like everyday objects. Or sitting down in part-cat sofa that grew teeth and hissed at the offenders (Drisela and Lysander Rowle). That _ had _been pretty funny, but of course Sirius got in trouble for laughing. He considered taking one of the weapons hung up on the wall for decoration, maybe a knife or two, before deciding that they definitely had a curse attached. 

One last hallway. Sirius’s vision zeroed in on the door at the end. So close to freedom. So. Damn. Close. Of course, once he got out, it might set off a curse, or an alarm of some kind. He couldn’t get far in the dark, not as bruised and shaken as he was. He hated caution. It reminded him too much of his family. But right now, he needed it to get out safely. _ Creak. _Sirius froze. That wasn't him. Dogs didn’t make the floorboards creak. In the darkness, Sirius transformed back into a human and listened. Dogs had far better hearing, but being caught as a dog would be even worse than being caught as just Sirius. 

Silence. His own, stifled breathing. The paintings really would wake up if you breathed too loudly. If they did, he’d have to make a run for it, caution be damned. There was no way he could grovel his way out of this one, no matter how much Mother loved to see him do it. But the portrait of his (grandaunt? great-grandaunt?), Lycoris Iola Black, continued to sleep. Even though he was out of the cellar, he was still cold. Sirius wasn’t sure if it was because his dress robes weren’t particularly insulating or is his senses (and brain) were hyper alert and thus taking away energy from his limbs. Still, his palms and his armpits began to sweat and Sirius struggled not to swallow too loudly. 

Sirius eyed the single brown door. So deceptively simple. Turn the knob, go out. It couldn’t be that easy, could it? Or was he the even greater fool for standing there and not opening the damn door? But he’s heard someone. Right? Finally, Sirius forced himself to take three large steps, crossing the distance swiftly and not that quietly. 

_ “Sirius,” _a voice breathed, and Sirius tensed, then relaxed. Regulus may be at their parents’ beck and call, but Sirius was much happier to see him than, say, Kreacher. 

Sirius stepped closer. _ “Reggie,” _ he whispered back, syllables floating across the air between them so softly they almost disappeared. Turned out, Sirius needed no practice in being quiet. Just the right incentive. “_What are you doing here?” _

Regulus didn’t answer. He was in his pajamas, Sirius noted, as he stepped closer. Silently, Regulus held up one of Sirius’s robes, and just as wordlessly, Sirius put it on. The very warmest of Sirius’ robes. But why Regulus, the perfect son, who always looked the other way when Walburga took out her anger on Sirius? Why was he doing this? 

Said son offered Sirius his wand (dragon heartstring, dogwood, 15 ½ inches) and without a word, Sirius sild it into his robes. 

“They wanted to snap it in front of you,” Regulus murmured as Sirius stepped closer, shoes sliding awkwardly on the wooden floor. “If you. Refused.” Not that they would ever tell that to Regulus, but his younger brother wasn’t dumb. Sirius wondered if he had really gone to tell the Malfoys there was a delay of if he’d stayed by the dining room and listened.

Regulus handed over a stack of coins between two fingers. Carefully, Sirius set it in his robes without clinking them. “All the Muggle money I found in your room,” he said in an undertone, his distaste for _ Muggles _barely audible. It couldn’t be, not when he was reduced to this volume. 

Sirius nodded his thanks once. It hardly needed to be said. Regulus knew exactly what he was risking if their parents caught Regulus trying to sneak back upstairs. 

Regulus gingerly placed a pair of shoes on the ground and stood up. Sirius carefully eased out of the dress shoes he’d been wearing and slipped on the Muggle sneakers with far more grace than he was used to. If only his parents could see him now. Graceful, quiet and restrained. Wearing Muggle shoes. Escaping. Defying their wishes, hopefully one last time. 

“I couldn’t risk Hooter,” Regulus whispered, although the name of Sirius’ owl was technically Ibis. Sirius nodded his understanding. The last thing he wanted was his owl hooting angrily because he’d been woken up. Regulus gave Sirius was a jar packed to the brim with snacks, which he also slid into his robes without looking. Regulus no longer knew what his favorite snacks were, but Sirius found that he really didn’t care. 

He didn’t know how Regulus knew to be waiting here, when he’d never escaped the cellar before. He didn’t know what would happen when his parents woke up and found Sirius gone. Sirius didn’t want to know what would happen if they found their two sons here, conspiring in the darkened entrance hallway. He was still filled with manic adrenaline from his flight, keeping him alert and moving, but already he felt lethargy creeping in. Soon he would be too tired for anything. 

“How did you know to get Muggle money?” Sirius asked instead, genuinely curious, moving his copper wires to his new robe and folding his dress robes into a tight wad of cloth. 

Regulus didn’t know why either. He didn’t know what had prompted him to wait until his parents were definitely asleep, then creep downstairs with a bunch of things Sirius would need if he was running away. He knew that Sirius would want to run away; that much was obvious. Even his parents knew it. But as to how he knew that Sirius would escape the cellar, when all the curses on the door should be impossible for a wandless, upcoming Sixth Year to break?

Well, that he couldn’t explain.

It’s just that, years ago, back when Regulus and Sirius were more like brothers and less like roommates, before Sirius went to Hogwarts but after his first afternoon in the cellar for breaking a Black family heirloom from the reign of Queen Anne, after several long, excruciating hours sitting outside the cellar door, Sirius’s dinner cooling on the floor beside him, after Sirius was finally allowed out, now timid and red-eyed, after their parents had found more important matters and left the brothers alone again, Sirius had turned to him and said _ one day, I’ll be able to blast that door to _ smithereens, _ and then they won’t be able to keep me there anymore _–

And Regulus had believed him. Even years later, when Mother had found better punishments for Sirius, he hadn’t stopped believing him. 

After the fight, when the manor settled into silence again, Regulus kept on hearing Sirius. He lay in bed bawling his eyes out like a _ pathetic little Hufflepuff _ as quietly as he could so nobody would hear him. (Sirius used to hear him, and he always came, every time, he came, came, _ came, _ until he didn’t anymore). Kreacher was cleaning the dining room, and his parents had gone to bed. Regulus was alone with his doubts and tears. Or, he should have been alone, but he kept on hearing Sirius from ages ago, saying _ they won’t be able to keep me there anymore, just you wait, Reg, you’ll see, they won’t know what to do with me– _

Even when Sirius wasn’t there, he still managed to make a nuisance of himself. Mother had sent Regulus out of the room when the fight started up, as usual, but this time instead of running somewhere he couldn’t hear them, he’d wanted to listen. Sirius would say it was his Ravenclaw side, and Regulus would stir at the uncomfortable reminder of what the Sorting Hat had told him _ (you’d be a great Ravenclaw, you know, you’ve got the brains for it) _ , and snap at him _ but I made it, I was Sorted into Slytheirn, I did what I was _ supposed _ to do _–

And yet he’d stayed, driven by a hunger to _ know, _instead of doing the smart Slytherin thing and leaving. Then he’d known. And then he’d ran back to his room and started crying into his pillow, unable to sleep, his mind too wild to consider sleeping. He almost regretted listening. 

Almost. He’d heard the fight, but more importantly, he’d heard how it…well, he’d heard enough. He knew Sirius was down in the cellar again, alone, desperate, a Black, and a Gryffindor. Regulus sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes and thought, _ the last time I cried in the middle of the night, Sirius came and whispered stories about the Wumpity Numpties for hours, but this time he can’t come, this time, maybe I should go to him. _

_ He deserves everything he got, _ he’d told himself, because that’s what he would say to his parents, but he couldn’t bring himself to believe it. Regulus had sat in shocked horror as the fight spiraled further and further out of control, until finally he was running, hiding under his covers, crying like he was five years old again, and not once had _ he deserves it _crossed his mind. 

_ It’s better for everyone if Sirius goes, _ he’d decided. Where once Regulus had trusted his brother with everything, now he at least trusted his brother to do something stupidly desperate and stupidly Gryffindor. _ Blacks do impossible things when they’re desperate, _he thought, and then gotten out of bed. 

“I don’t know,” Regulus answered, shrugging. “It was just on top of your drawers.”

By then the brothers had changed positions; Sirius with his back to the door, Regulus facing Sirius. 

“Stay,” Regulus blurted.

“Come,” Sirius said impulsively, at the exact same time.

The two brothers stared at each other. 

“You know I can’t,” Sirius replied. 

“I wish,” Regulus began, and then stopped. Blacks have no use for wishes. 

“You don’t even want me to,” Sirius whispered fiercely. “You want me out of the way.”

Regulus stuck out his chin. “Maybe I don’t want to live with Mother’s wrath by myself. Is that so wrong?”

“It is,” Sirius hissed, ready to spit out a list of injustices committed against him, but for the first time in years, nothing came. His words got caught in his throat, which had gone dry. It wasn’t that he _ liked _thinking about them, it was just that now he wouldn’t. Couldn’t. 

Regulus’ lips thinned. “I see,” he said, angry at himself for feeling stung by his older brother’s vicious disapproval. 

Sirius read only condescension in his brother’s words and bit back the urge to prove himself right. “I’m leaving, Reg, and I’m not sorry,” Sirius whispered harshly.

Reggie smiled humorlessly. “Of course you’d throw it all away. You never cared, did you, throwing away what others would die for like waste–.”

“On the bright side,” Sirius hissed, “now you’ll be the unchallenged favorite son. No one to steal the attention from how perfectly _ dull _you are. Mother used to call us “the Heir and the spare”, you know that, I heard her once, had an extra just in case–” he broke off. 

Regulus took a step back and tilted his head back ever so slightly, like he was about to yell loudly. 

“Don’t,” Sirius said. “You. Dare.”

Reggie’s eyes glared back. _ Dare me. _

“Please,” Sirius added. And then quietly; “I’m sorry.” He hadn’t meant it. Spitting back insults at his brother just came naturally to him at this point. 

“It’s better for both of us this way,” Regulus said softly. He knew it was, he really did, but he wasn’t sure if he’d ever be able to forgive his brother for abandoning him. (And he knew one reason for helping his brother leave was so that he could finally have all of his parents’ attention, but how could he tell that to Sirius?)

“This family is going to get you killed,” Sirius warned half-heartedly. 

“It’s better than being _ you_,” Regulus retorted. “Ever since you went to Hogwarts, you’ve been obsessed with _ Muggle this _ and _ Muggle that _ until you’d forgotten where you came from. _ Toujours Pur, _ Siri. You betrayed our family first.” _ You used to take the fall for me, _he thought. Back when it was just the two of them, Sirius would always take the blame when they got into trouble. But then he went to Hogwarts and found people who would take the fall for him. Regulus knew he should dislike his brother’s friends for not being worthy of a Black, or for being Muggle-lovers, like their parents did, but he knew he was mostly jealous that Sirius liked them more than him. 

“Yeah, well, it’s better than obsessing over the Dark Arts like they’re a fucking hobby until I’m just as mad as the rest of our bloody fucking_ family,” _Sirius growled. “You really should’ve gone into Ravenclaw, Reg, you’d’ve been the pride of the House.”

They glared at each other, temporarily forgetting that Regulus had risked his own security within the family on the off chance that Sirius would escape the cellar. 

Sirius tried to reign in his voice. When had he gotten so loud? He blamed Regulus. “You’re an idiot,” Sirius whispered, “if you think you’ll be protected just because you’re a _Black_.” He spat his last name out like a curse word, the way his mother spat out Mudblood or half-breed or even worse, _Muggle. _

“_You’re _ a fool,” Regulus whispered back harshly, “if you think they’ll ever forgive _ you _ for being a _ Black_.” And he hissed it the same way Sirius had heard Rook Spinchen say, “the vote on denying jobs on the basis of blood status, stalled by Cygnus _ Black”_, as an explanation for why he hadn’t gotten the internship he so desperately wanted. The same way Frank Longbottom had said _ “Black” _when he passed dear cousin Bellatrix in the hallway after she had a stand-off with his girlfriend, Alice. The same way Lily Evans had said his last name when she caught him and James messing with Snape. 

So Sirius had nothing to spit back at Regulus, because while his friends had long forgiven him for his upbringing, and that should be enough, he knew Regulus was right. 

The two Black brothers stared at each other, wondering if it was the last time they would see each other. Wondering if things would have been different if Walburga hadn’t sunk her claws into Regulus when Sirius went off the Hogwarts. If she hadn’t panicked so much when Sirius got Sorted into Gryffindor. 

They lapsed into silence. Danger still tingled in the back of Sirius’ mind, but the imminent panic had passed. He was one step from the door, and yes, his parents could Apparate, but they couldn’t track him. He found himself wanting to stay and talk to his brother. They hadn’t talked, not really, for years. The pressure of their situation seemed to be forcing them into conversation. Somewhere in the back of their minds, they both wondered if this would be their last chance to really talk, since Hogwarts wasn’t really an option.

Sirius couldn’t leave without asking. “How did you know I’d escape?” 

Regulus shrugged one shoulder elegantly. “I guessed. You were desperate, and you were a Black. And anyway,” Regulus continued, knowing that his brother must have thought of it already, “the wards won’t let you out.”

“Don’t worry about the wards.”

“You took them down? How did you take them down? That should be impossible. Is that how you broke out of the cellar?” Regulus’s Ravenclaw side showed itself. The boy leaned forward, hungering for knowledge. 

Sirius turned away and faced the door. The image of the blood rune burned in the back of his mind, but Sirius tried to pretend he didn’t know what Regulus was talking about. It didn’t mean anything, he told himself. _ Hogwarts doesn’t teach blood runes for a reason. _ It didn’t mean anything. He was desperate. _ And what happens when you’re desperate again? _ He wasn’t like his family. He didn’t do it for fun. _ How long until you slip off the edge and end up like Lycoris Black? You’re already halfway there. _ Sirius tried to himself that it didn’t matter what his family would think; he didn’t care, right? But all he could see was Mother laughing in delight, grinning in Sirius’s face and saying _ see, you’re just like us after all _–

His whites flashed in the dark. “Some things, Reg, I gotta keep to myself.” It wasn’t as if his brother would disapprove of his use of Dark Magic. He would use it as proof that Sirius belonged here, hold it over his head at Hogwarts with subtle glances at his friends and _ you don’t want them to know, do you? _ And that was exactly why Sirius wouldn’t–couldn’t–tell him. 

Regulus smiled bitterly. “You’d’ve been a great Slytherin if you wanted to be.”

Sirius grinned back remorselessly. “If only.”

The space between them seemed to stretch. The night grew long, but both brothers were wide awake. Regulus’ eyes darted to the ruined state of his brother’s hair. 

“Why would you give this all up?” Regulus asked. They were the pureblood princes. They could get away with almost anything. Get almost any job they wanted with minimal effort, or not have a job at all and live in style for the rest of their lives, like their grandfather, Lord Black. Ruin those who dared insult them with a word to the right person. Eat at the finest restaurants, wear the fanciest robes, have access to knowledge others only dreamed of. Not worry about doing well _ for a Muggleborn. _They didn’t have to face the constant need to be the very best to even be considered equal. 

Marry whomever their parents chose for them. Constantly suspect your so-called friends for betrayal. Serve and die for Voldemort in the oncoming war, and oh, was it coming. 

Sirius flexed his left wrist, feeling the sting on the back of it. He shrugged, trying for his usual casual attitude. “What am I losing?” 

He thought he knew what he was losing then: the security of his next meal, even if it came with guest dinners and elite parties. Having clothes to wear, even if they were always green, black, or silver, and he liked Muggle clothing better anyway. Being able to take a shower, even if he normally avoided it like the plague. A roof over his head, even if the objects inside weren’t friendly. His family. Any hope of reconciliation. He wouldn’t run away for fun, even though he’d once tried to jump off the Hogwarts Express for fun. Sirius knew what he was getting into. A little voice in the back him his head screamed at him a thousand ways it could go terribly wrong and sobbed in fright because _ what would Mother and Father say _but Sirius dismissed it as Black paranoia. Because that was all it was, right?

_ (Goodness, do you think he suspects?) _

Regulus tightened his lips, but said nothing. “You know if you come again,” he whispered, “I’ll have to turn you away.”

Sirius was silent for a moment. “If you ever change your mind,” he said finally, “I’ll never turn you away.” And he didn’t know if he meant it in that moment—in all likelihood, he didn’t—but he had to say it. He couldn’t let Regulus say _ no _ and not say _ yes. _

“Even though–”

“Even though we’ll be on opposite sides of the war.”

“It’s not a war, Siri,” Regulus sighed. “It’s just purebloods pushing for the rights we _ deserve _.”

“It will be, if your _ Master _ has his way.”

Regulus blanched, but didn’t confirm it. Nor did he refute it. “Good luck, Sirius,” he murmured. “I hope you know what you’re doing.” 

“‘Course,” his older brother answered confidently. “Yeah. I’ll be fine.” 

(Later Sirius would look back and laugh and laugh and laugh at poor little innocent Sirius who stood there and told his little brother _ yeah, of course I know what I’m getting into–) _

But tonight Sirius straightened his shoulders and tried to smile reassuringly for his baby brother. 

The brothers hesitated for a moment, but in the end they hugged gently. Regulus used to bury his head in his brother’s shoulder, but tonight it was covered by a cutting curse. Sirius didn’t dare ruffle his hair, because he hadn’t done it in years anyway and he didn’t want to make his little brother mad. (Regulus hated being treated like a little kid). _ I’ll miss you, _ Regulus might have said, if he’d been braver, or more Hufflepuff. _ I’ll miss you, _ Sirius might have said, if Regulus wasn’t a reminder of everything he hated. _ I love you, _neither of them would have said until it was too late. 

Maybe one day. 

They separated, brushing their robes awkwardly as if they could get rid of all evidence of affection. Leaving his wand in his pocket, Sirius turned to the door and tried the doorknob, which rotated silently. The front door clicked softly and swung open. He stuck his untwisted wire through the door frame. Nothing happened. No portraits started screeching, no ancient curse came alive and sealed the entrance, his wire did not burst into flames or spontaneously combust. All in all, it was rather anticlimactic. Sirius felt a knot of tension leaving his stomach in a woosh. 

“I guess it’s safe,” Sirius said, when nobody stirred. Regulus watched his brother’s back with avid eyes as he stepped into the doorframe. He’d never stopped looking up to his brother, metaphorically or physically. He’d just started fearing (and fearing for) him. Regulus thought that Sirius was throwing away his life with his recklessness. Sirius thought that Regulus was wasting his life with his blind obedience to the family and their ideals. Neither considered that both could be true. 

Regulus found it easy from this angle to pretend that Sirius knew what he was doing. You couldn’t tell how ruined his hair was, or how puffy and red his eyes were. No, from this angle all you saw was a young man standing tall by the light of the moon, Black as the night he was running into. 

“Goodbye, Siri,” Regulus whispered in a hushed voice.

“G’bye, Reg,” Sirius said simply, without turning around. The brothers moved at the same time; one heading for the darkened hallways of the Black Family Manor, the other heading out into the wide, unknown world of the dying August night. 

Sirius Black limped out into the night with his wand, some snacks, a pile of coins, and the clothes on his back. He never looked back. 


	2. the outside

On the night of August 9, 1975, many things were afoot. 

Contrary to what Sirius and Regulus Black might have thought, not much time had passed since their ill-fated dinner. The Blacks liked having dinner on the early side, and Sirius’ harrowing escapade through the darkened halls of his family home had taken him all of two minutes. By the time he left the house four minutes later, the sun had set, but barely. One could argue that while the precise time of sunset had passed, twilight had not yet ended, and therefore it was still not nighttime. 

A large black dog, its fur cut and matted in odd places, could be seen loping through the streets of London, heading east with a single-minded determination. Most people had finished dinner by this hour, so few were out to see the dog, and fewer still could be bothered to care. In the evening light, a full moon rose over Great Britain. 

-oOoOo-

In the small town of Cokeworth, night was falling. Severus Snape stared up, unseeing, at the peeling ceiling of his room. The difference between daytime and nighttime was of little importance to him, given how sleeping and waking had rather blended into one. For all he cared, it could be midnight or noon. He only left the house to avoid his parents’ arguments, but he couldn’t go to the one small, public library anymore, because Lily’s mother was the librarian. A book on the treatment of various horrid, fast-acting potions lay forgotten on his stomach. He tuned out the sounds of his parents arguing out of habit, and thought instead of the events of the past year and how they could have gone better. Or worse. They could have gone much worse, too. Severus closed his eyes and wondered what time it was. For most of the summer, the time made no difference to him.

But not tonight. The night of August 9, during the festival of Lughnasadh, was his first Death Eater meeting. It was the initiation ceremony for all the new recruits. The older members hadn’t answered the cautious questions he’d dared to ask about the ceremony, but from the way Rodolphus Lestrange rubbed his arm discreetly, when he thought nobody was looking, initiation hurt. That, in itself, wasn’t surprising. Severus was no stranger to pain. 

He could barely believe it. Tonight, he, Severus Snape, a forgotten halfblood of a disgraced daughter of the Prince Family, and son of a _ Muggle, _was joining the ranks of the Dark Lord’s Chosen. Now all he had left to do was wait for Lestrange to come with the Portkey–by the grove of trees, far from his house, supposedly because they didn’t want to attract any unnecessary attention. In reality, of course, Severus didn’t want anyone to know where he lived–except for Lily, who already knew. 

After their OWLS, he’d been afraid that Lily would tell everyone all the things she’d promised never to tell. But as time went on and nobody seemed to know, he realized that unlike him, Lily’s wrath wasn’t spiteful or vengeful. After all, she’d hated Potter and Black for years, but she’d never publicly humiliated them. She didn’t run out crying or stamp her feet and scream. Her fury was freezing cold. It wasn’t as if she refused to speak to him, or pretended that they hadn’t been friends for most of their childhood. Maybe it would be better if she did. Instead, Lily treated him the same way she treated James Potter, and that was absolutely intolerable to Severus.

_ But don’t you see, Lily, that we’ve already won? _ The Ministry and Dumbledore don’t stand a chance. They’d be fighting against the very heart of the Wizarding World. Why did she even care about Muggles anyway? She was better than them. She was better than all the other Mudbloods, the same way Severus might technically be a halfblood, but he didn’t cling to his Muggle side like it was something to be _ proud _ of. _ One day, I will become indispensable to the Dark Lord, _Severus vowed. Then he would be able to protect Lily from anything, and she would be grateful, and Severus would finally have everything he’d ever wanted.

Distantly, he heard his parents’ argument finish as his father slammed his door shut. He always did that whenever his mother brought out her wand. He hated feeling inferior. _ Nevermind them, _ he told himself. He had bigger things to worry about. Tonight, he was joining the Knights of Walpurgis. 

Severus was excited. Sure, he was terrified and nervous–who wouldn’t be? He was meeting _ the _Dark Lord! But it was the greatest thing to happen to him in all his life. Finally, this was his chance to be important. To finally rise above the filthy poverty his father had left him in and become someone who mattered. This was his chance to finally belong, in a way that he never had before–not at home, not in Slytherin House. (He was so caught up in anticipation, it almost made up for the fact that he hadn’t had more than one conversation with Lily all summer). 

He had never so desperately wanted for 10 pm to arrive faster before. 

-OoOoO-

Sirius ran. 

His paws thudded on the pavement in a rhythmic loping pattern, pulling on cuts that unfortunately transferred when he changed bodies. He ran without stopping. At some point he started panting, but he didn’t even notice; he didn’t notice the buildings he passed or the streets he crossed, cars driving home after a long day, or the deepening exhaustion threatening to overtake him.

He ran. Sirius ran right into the night, ignoring the last fading vestiges of sunset in the night sky behind him and ran towards the moon. He might have passed a dozen houses or a hundred. The wind pressed against his face, making his tongue loll backwards and his snout feel cold. His ears flopped in the air, exposing the cuts running down them to the cold night atmosphere. He ran from his parents and his brother, his last connection to his family. He fled from the memory of a dinner he hoped to someday forget, despite the fact that it was burned into his brain. 

Sirius ran. He didn’t slow down for what felt like hours. 

_ Water. _ Sirius stopped abruptly when the scent of water briefly hit his nose. He sniffed again and realized that he’d made it all the way to the Thames. _ Water. _Merlin, he was so thirsty. For a second the dog in him was determined that getting a drink from the river was a great idea, but even to Sirius it was fairly obvious how not clean the water was. Sirius turned right and saw a park. The fence was too high for a dog to get over, but the human Sirius jumped it quickly. No one was out this late at night, whatever time it actually was. He stumbled through the path, clutching his wand like a lifeline, even as the spectre of Hogwarts loomed over him, forbidding him use of his greatest tool. The things he was carrying with him generally stayed with him in his Animagus form. The Marauders had pushed that magic to its limit, so Sirius was fully confident that his money and his snack stayed with him. 

He sniffed again, despite no longer having the keen sense of smell that Padfoot had. There, squatting in the darkness: a stout object, about three feet high, in the corner of the path. A water fountain. Sirius made a beeline for it and leaned over it with the gasp of the drowning. He lapped up water like the dog he sometimes was, pausing only occasionally to breathe. He splashed water on his face, rubbing the wild adrenaline from his eyes. 

Merlin. What the fuck was he doing? Sirius reached for the food Regulus had provided him and shoved it in his mouth without looking. He tasted buttered bread and could see his little brother so clearly in his mind’s eye: awkwardly sticking a knife in the block of butter and hoping something would happen, his carefully maintained hair falling around his face. Regulus had no idea how to butter bread. Sirius was surprised he’d even managed to find butter and bread in the first place. 

Slowly, he chewed the bread, wanting to savor the taste. Reggie didn’t know where to find food in his own kitchen, but Sirius was just as helpless in the Muggle world. Where would he sleep? What would he eat? He had one night and eight days until James returned. What would he do until then? Although Peter was technically a halfblood, both his parents were magical, and thus he didn’t have a telephone. _ I have to phone Remus, _ Sirius thought. Remus wouldn’t turn him away if he knew what had happened. Then he looked around and thought, _ how the fuck do I call Remus? _Their Muggle Studies teacher taught them what a telephone was and how to use it, but Sirius couldn’t remember her mentioning how to find it. Are they in houses? Did Sirius have to steal one? All the Marauders had memorized Remus’s number so that they could call him, but they ended up writing him letters instead. 

That could wait until tomorrow, he decided. Maybe he could ask somebody on the street. He could just stay with Remus for a week and then go spend the remainder of the summer with James. 

Sirius looked around at the children’s playground he was directly outside of, and his eyes landed on the little structure with a slide on one side and some twisty ladder on the other. He hopped over the short fence and made his way up the one and a half foot “climbing wall”. _ Do Muggle children really find this fun? _Sirius wondered idly. As soon as he reached the top, Sirius became a dog again. He circled the square platform and eventually curled up in one corner, just far enough from the side to be under the plastic roof in case it rained at some point further in the night. It was as good a place to sleep as any, he supposed. 

His eyes closed. 

-OoOoO-

The room of Remus Lupin was noticeably empty. The window was firmly closed and warded with the strongest spells his parents knew–as it had been since he was five years old. The window shutters were closed, and thick curtains had been draped on top of them, letting exactly no light inside the room. An empty bed wasn’t particularly worrying, given that it was barely past nine in the evening in the summer. 

The Lupins had dinner late, but even they had finished eating half an hour ago. They’d simply remained sitting and continued talking. Remus left quietly as his parents discussed the merits of flying carpets as a method of transportation, as he had done on July 11 and June 12, and disappeared down the stairs into the basement. Lyall and Hope Lupin had looked at him retreating back and then each other, as they had been doing for years, feeling a familiar, exhausting sadness. With a quick flick of Lyall’s wand, the dishes were sent flying back to the kitchen, and a second later the kitchen became full of the sounds of it cleaning itself up. 

Hope Lupin followed her son downstairs, reaching the bottom just in time for the door to the cellar to close gently but firmly in her face. She sighed and leaned her head against the door. 

“Can you lock the door now?” said her son’s muffled voice.

“Remus–”

“I know, Mum. Just–please. Lock the door.”

Hope Lupin sighed again, weary of this fight that she and her husband had been losing for years now. Remus had always been private about his transformations, and never responded well when pressed. He’d become even more tight-lipped about them as they got worse–after all the treatments they sought out failed, and the Lupins were forced to resort to locked doors and moving towns when neighbors began to become suspicious. She knew Lyall was still worried that Remus blamed him for it. Personally, Hope was worried that something had happened between Remus had the friends he spoke so much about. Silently, she placed one hand on the heavy metal door–any less, they had discovered, and Remus would be able to knock it down–and slid the locks into place, one by one. 

Inside, Remus Lupin shivered and tried not to think about the full moon looming over him. He hadn’t told his parents about how the Marauders had become Animagi, and a big part of him still felt really guilty about it. They knew firsthand how awful his transformations were, and he knew how worried they were for him. Telling them that they’d been so much better this year would ease their worries, but that meant telling his father, who worked for the Ministry of Magic, that his friends were illegal Animagi. Remus couldn’t do that to them, not after they’d risked so much for him. 

His thoughts drifted to the worst full moon of the school year; the one where Sirius had almost gotten him and Snape killed. He still couldn’t believe Sirius would be so reckless with his friend’s _ life. _ And it had been before they became Animagi, too. Any of them could have been bitten. Snape would have been bitten, if James hadn’t stopped him in time. Which was probably the only reason why Snape kept quiet about the fact that he _ knew Remus was a werewolf. _As if Snape needed another reason to hate the four of them. 

He’d forgiven Sirius eventually–partly because he knew Sirius hadn’t been trying to get anyone hurt, he was just being stupid, and partly because Remus didn’t want to lose one of his three friends. But it hadn’t been the same between them since, and they hadn’t really fixed things. Remus just did what he did best, and avoided talking about it. 

Remus could tell his mother was still right outside the door. He knew that in the morning when he woke up, the door would already be unlocked, and there would be a neat pile of clean clothes right outside the door. When he went upstairs, he would find his parents seated quietly at the table, with a hot cup of tea waiting for him. 

The thought of it was enough for Remus to relax some of the tension built up in his shoulders. The moon peeked through the small, barred window at the top of the cellar. He shuddered softly. Finally, the moment he had been dreading. 

Hope Lupin slid the last lock into place. Inside, her son started screaming. Old tears fell, and she walked away. 

-OoOoO-

_ Orion’s dragonhide boot came down from above as Sirius rolled out from under the table, the shredded locks of his hair from Mother’s Cutting Curses still clinging to his robes, but he wasn’t focused on that– _

_ “Betram Aubrey ended up in the Hospital Wing,” Father said victoriously, and how did he even know the name of a first year Muggleborn? _

_ “He insulted Remus,” Sirius defended himself weakly, blood welling up on his left cheek. _

_ “Your actions,” Mother sneered, “speak louder than your words.” _

_ “Really, Sirius,” Father said, somewhere between condescending and disappointed, “we’d be proud if you weren’t so obvious about it–” _

Sirius bolted upright, a scream strangled in his throat. His heart thumped in his throat, thoughts frantically racing in the dark, trapped in the past. _ Get away from me Dad you can’t let her please stop it stop it make it stop Merlin I’ll do anything HOW COULD YOU _–

Sirius squeezed his eyes shut and inhaled deeply. His sweaty palms pressed against a cool, hard surface. He swayed in place, his mind dizzy, nauseated, and exhausted. For a terrifying second, he thought his flight through Black Manor was just a dream, and he was still locked in the cellar, waiting for Mother or Father to let him out. Then he opened his eyes and saw the silent Muggle playground, lit by the streetlights that lined the sidewalks. _ You escaped, _ he told himself. _ You made it out, they’ll never find you here. _His parents probably wouldn’t even bother to look. Mother would be too furious to care. Most likely, she’d burn him off the family tree and disown him, which was what he wanted anyway. And they’d give up their Gringotts vault before they ever voluntarily went to a Muggle area. 

Sirius settled back down and realized that he’d just woken up in the middle of the night from a nightmare. That had never happened before. A deep, sinking feeling told him that it wouldn’t be the last time. _ Everything will be better tomorrow, _Sirius told himself firmly. He turned back into a dog and curled up in the corner again, drifting into sleep. 

His heartbeat steadied. 

-oOoOo-

In a hotel in Mumbai, James Potter lay on his stomach, snoring. The time in India was past three in the morning, and while James usually had no problem staying up, he also had absolutely nothing to do. During the summers, he often used nighttime for a bit of thrilling Quidditch practice, but in a Muggle city, that was obviously not an option. He had no one to talk to (downside of being an only child) and nothing to do. Also, he and his parents were going to visit the Elephanta Caves the following day, and the hidden magical side of the island was significantly more interesting than staying up and doing nothing. 

If asked, he would say he was dreaming about becoming friends with Lily Evans, and the five of them running around on the Hogwarts grounds after dark. The truth was a little less parent-friendly, and a little more Lily Evans-related. Unfortunately, his parents were very used to seeing through his lies, even white lies that were for their own good. The following “conversation” about respect, unrealistic expectations, people’s privacy, and other terrible topics, while being possibly more R-rated than his dream, was definitely less enjoyable. It managed to ruin his entire day, including their trip to the Elephanta Caves. In fact, given the choice between repeating that conversation and making nice with Snape, James would choose the latter with only a little hesitation. 

-oOoOo-

_ “Mummy! Daddy! There’s a dog on the playground!” _

Sirius woke slowly, still exhausted from the previous night. His eyes opened to darkness, light slowly creeping into the corners of his vision. 

“Alright, you gotta move, buddy,” he heard someone saying. Sirius whined and curled tighter. “Watch out, Jimmy, it looks stray. You’re a smart dog, aren’t you? How did you get up here?”

He rolled over and stared up at Jimmy’s dad, a portly man with a full head of hair. He was still panting; clearly, he had struggled to get to the top of the platform. 

“Daddy, can we keep it?” Jimmy asked, peering from behind his dad at Sirius, who growled in warning. If these Muggles tried to keep him, he was jumping off the edge. 

“Jimmy, if we wanted a dog, we would buy it properly. This dog belongs in the kennel. Speaking of, can you keep an eye on it?”

“Where are you going?” Jimmy demanded as his dad began to search for the easiest way down. 

“To call the pound. Or Animal Control. Whichever is faster.”

Sirius could tell he had overstayed his welcome. He waited until the dad finally decided on the ladder and clambered down, huffing and puffing. 

“I want a dog,” Jimmy informed Sirius solemnly. “I’m going to ask for one for my birthday. He’ll be big and black, just like you, but not ugly.”

Sirius sniffed at that, which translated to a dog sneeze. The reminder of his lost hair stung more from a blunt four-year-old than his own brother. 

“Are you sick, doggie? Is that why your fur is all funny? Hey, where are you going?”

Sirius stood up and stretched, shaking off the last vestiges of sleep. He trotted to the edge of the platform and looked down, trying to guess how far down the ground was. 

“Dad! I think he’s going to jump!” Jimmy called. Sirius looked up, searching for Jimmy’s dad and maybe a telephone. He saw Jimmy’s dad on the way out of the park, but none of those little booths they’d seen in Muggle Studies. Ah well. He could always find one on his own. 

Sirius looked down again, his tail wagging nervously. _ It’s not as far as you think it is, _he told himself firmly, and jumped. His stomach plummeted briefly and the ground rushed at him. 

He landed on all four paws and shook himself, trying to absorb the impact from his fall. _ Phew. _That wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be. 

“Dad! Mum! The dog is running away!”

“Well, it’s not our problem then,” Jimmy’s mum said. “Let it go, James.” 

Sirius wondered if James–his James–was like this when he was a toddler, just with magic. 

“Someone else will give it a home,” Jimmy’s mum continued. _ “Or it’ll die of hunger,” _ she muttered under her breath, too quietly for little Jimmy to hear. At the mention of food, his stomach began to rumble. What time was it, anyway? Sirius trotted back to the path, through the gate that Jimmy’s parents had conveniently left open. He turned right, past the hedges, back to the tall black fence he’d jumped last night. 

“Don’t go, doggie!” Jimmy called after him. “I’m sorry I called you ugly!”

Sirius ran.

-oOoOo- 

The rat sometimes known as Peter Pettigrew huddled silently in the vents of his flat, above his parents’ room. The air conditioning was drowning out most of their conversation, but he could still make out bits and pieces. 

“…cut his Hogwarts spending, we can’t…”

His mum’s voice drifted up, confirming Peter’s worries. He’d known his parents weren’t rich, by any stretch of the imagination. But he’d come back from Hogwarts this year to find that things had taken a turn for the worse, which was why he was up at midnight, listening to his mother decide that they needed to sell their old engagement rings. His parents had bought a flat in Norwich, a Muggle city far from anything magical, because it was much cheaper than living in one of the few solely magical residences like Godric’s Hollow or Hogsmeade, even though most magical families disliked living in Muggle places. Both of his parents were Muggleborn, which somehow made him a halfblood, so they were very used to living in the Muggle world anyway. However, Peter’s parents did their best to pretend they weren’t. They didn’t own a telephone, and their flat was lit by candlelight despite the fact that they also knew a spell to flip a light switch. 

But despite how badly his parents wanted to fit in with the magical world, being a Muggleborn had cost Dad his job. That’s what he’d inferred, if not what his parents had actually said. Since he was their only child, they took it upon themselves to give him the best they had to offer, including the world. Peter knew he was a little spoiled, but not the way James was–James, who had everything; friends, family, money, looks, and talent. He’d dated all the Gryffindor girls in their year at this point, with the sole exception of Evans. He supposed he could see what James saw in her, but she was laughably out of Peter’s league. James was too much of a troublemaker to ever be considered for Head Boy, but Peter wouldn’t be surprised if they made Evans Head Girl in their seventh year. And someone like Peter had no business dating a potential Head Girl. 

When Peter was Sorted, the Sorting Hat told him that going to Gryffindor would make him braver than he could ever be otherwise. Most Gryffindors, it said, were put in Gryffindor because they were brave. Putting Peter, who wasn’t much of anything, into Gryffindor, was a self-fulfilling prophecy. But it wasn’t until after the Giant Squid Incident that Peter realized exactly how true that was. When he was in Gryffindor, he was one of the Marauders. It made him feel so powerful whenever someone realized _ oh, you’re Peter Pettigrew, you’re one of _ those _ boys _. Perhaps it was because of the general confidence and attitude Gryffindors carried with them everywhere, but when Peter was in Gryffindor, he felt undefeatable. Then as soon as he left Hogwarts, he was reminded of how weak he was compared to everyone else, including his friends. 

It wasn’t until his dad lost his job that Peter realized that the Marauders wouldn’t always be able to help him. They were only three boys. What was going to happen when they left Hogwarts? Purebloods owned the Wizarding World. They’d created their own radical terrorist group that was recruiting kids still in Hogwarts, for Merlin’s sake, and the Ministry had done nothing to stop it. According to them, the “Knights of Walpurgis” was a social group, and would continue to be one until someone died, but by then it would already be too late. In Peter’s opinion, they had already won. 

At the moment, Peter had every intention of sticking with his friends. However, Peter wasn’t exactly known for his ability to plan for the future. He didn’t consider that his own values would eventually come into conflict with his friendships. 

The rat known as Peter Pettigrew turned and scurried away through the vents. He sniffed his way back to his room and slipped through the slits on the grate in his ceiling, which sent him plummeting to the ground. He transformed back into a human right before hitting the floor with a dull thump and scrambled back to bed. Peter closed his eyes and tried to sleep, regretting for the first time his decision to become a Gryffindor. 

-OoOoO-

The dog sometimes known as Sirius Black followed his nose down the streets of London. Apparently stray dogs were uncommon in Muggle London, because people kept doing a double take after seeing him trotting down the street. He crossed the river on the pedestrian sidewalk, garnering even more strange looks. Once across the river, he turned right and soon found a little white building with a yellow overhang, the scent of food wafting all over it. He trotted to Gail’s Bakery, Battersea Square, the source of the baked goodness he smelled. Sirius noticed people in the tables around the little plaza, talking and eating breakfast. Quickly, he ducked into a doorway and turned back into human Sirius. Sirius hadn’t run very far from the playground before the smell of food caught his attention. The snack he had last night didn’t make up for a missed dinner, especially after last night’s run. Soon after he left the playground, he found himself starving. 

Eight days until James returned. His new plan was first to get food, because he was absolutely starving, and then perhaps ask someone where the nearest telephone was. The Muggle coins in his pocket jangled reassuringly. Before they had learned about it in Muggle Studies, both James and Sirius found Muggle money endlessly entertaining, so occasionally Remus would bribe them with a Muggle coin. After they had to memorize the values of Muggle currency, it became less entertaining, and he hadn’t gotten more coins since. Sirius held the coins up to the sunlight and tried to determine their worth, but it had been a while since that test, and he’d forgotten everything pretty quickly. The silver coin with a gold rim was worth two pounds, he was pretty sure, but the others he wasn’t sure about. 

Two pounds was plenty of money, Sirius decided, and shoved it back into his pocket. Out of instinct, he reached to run his hand through his hair. His stomach turned when he realized, again, that his hair was shredded. His clothes were rumpled, stained, and a little ripped, but they should be good enough for a casual breakfast. _ This is good enough, _he told himself, and strode across the street. 

The first thing that went wrong was that Sirius tried to push the door open. It wouldn’t have been a problem if he hadn’t been working up his swagger, but it was the first Muggle place he’d ever been in, and he wanted to look confident, so he ended up stumbling over his own feet and running into the door. His hands landed on the “PULL TO OPEN” sign. Humiliated, Sirius took a step back and pulled the door open. 

Gail’s Bakery (or artisanal bakery for breakfast and lunch) was thankfully organized much like a bakery in the magical world. Sirius wasn’t sure what he expected to be radically different, in retrospect, but the only major difference he noticed straight away was clothes. He was the second customer in the bakery, and the other customer was a man who looked like he just rolled out of bed. There was a counter at the back of the bakery, on top of long glass displays with a selection of pastries lined up inside of them. A faint aroma of fresh bread and coffee mingled in the air conditioned environment. Sirius inhaled deeply, ignoring the rush of cool air on the back of his neck where his hair should be. On the ceiling, little glass balls glowed with light. That must be _ real electricity, _ Sirius realized excitedly. They’d learned about the Muggle invention in Muggle Studies, but he’d never really considered what it would be like to see it authentically used, by real Muggles. _ I’m totally ready to pass as a Muggle, _he thought confidently. 

The other customer was looking at Sirius like _ he _ was the one wearing his pajamas. He ignored that too, until the server came out of the kitchen in the back when she heard the little bell above the door ding. In no store in the Wizarding World would that be considered appropriate attire for one of the workers. She had a name tag that read _ Caitlyn Haller _ pinned on top of a white apron(!), which she wore on top of a green shirt and pants that Sirius had only seen one or two students at Hogwarts wearing. Yet she was gawking at Sirius like he was the anomaly. _ Remus told us that the Muggle world wasn’t that different from the Wizarding world, _Sirius thought grumpily. 

He straightened and prepared his speech, which was structured so that Sirius could avoid knowing how much Muggle money was worth.

“Are you lost?” Caitlyn Haller said, cutting him off before he could begin.

The other customer sniffed and sent the server a wary look that Sirius almost missed. _ Rude, _he thought. So maybe he smelled a little after last night’s adventure, but no more than normal! Right? 

“I have come here!” Sirius said doggedly, ignoring the server. “To buy food.” He paused, so that the server could tell him that she didn’t sell food, just in case she didn’t. That was the second thing to go wrong in his attempt to get food and pretend to be a Muggle.

An awkward silence ensued. 

“I’m not sure I should sell to minors…” Ms. Haller–or rather Caitlyn; she looked barely older than him–said hesitantly. “Where are your parents?”

The second thing to go wrong was the arrival of Caitlyn Haller, who was standing in for a friend and had no idea what the rules were. This, unlike the first thing, was unavoidable for Sirius. He might have even gotten past it, if things hadn’t gone wrong after that. 

“I’m not a minor!” Sirius protested angrily, even though he had no idea what a minor was. Merlin, he was fifteen. He didn’t need parents. 

Caitlyn raised an eyebrow, so Sirius had probably been lying. Whatever. “I have money!” Sirius announced, digging through the deep pocket in his robe for his money. “Is this enough for–that?” He pointed at the sugary-looking pastry on the top shelf while shoving all his money on the counter. Caitlyn jumped back, startled by his sudden jabbing motion.

“Blimey, kid, just find CPS,” the other customer called from behind him. Sirius also didn’t know what that was. He was just offended that this man, who was clearly trying to drown his troubles in his cup of coffee, was trying to give Sirius advice. “They’ll take good care of ye.”

Sirius did _ not _ like the way that sounded. “Aw, what does a Muggle know anyway–” he retorted on instinct, and then froze. _ Why is that the first insult that comes to mind why do you sound like Regulus why can’t you think before speaking, first morning and you’re already breaking the Statute of Secrecy _ —

“Muggle?” The other customer scoffed. “Kid, you’re drunker than I am.” What exactly did that man put in his coffee?

“If you’re drunk, I’ll call the bobbies,” Caitlyn said in what she clearly thought was a threatening manner. “I don’t serve people like you.” She waved a finger at his pile of money, still lying on the counter. 

“But you serve people like _ him_?” Sirius asked, outraged. Although he had no idea what “bobbies” were, he did know that drinking at fifteen was probably illegal. It was illegal in the magical world, although it was hardly ever enforced, since there were several Sober-Up potions and spells that a friend could force down your throat. Sirius was more concerned with his growing dislike for the other customer and Caitlyn’s clear preference. “That–you’re not allowed to _ do _that!” He made another gesture with his arms. 

“I can refuse you service if I feel threatened,” Caitlyn defended herself, taking another step back from the counter. 

“I just wanted some fucking breakfast!” Sirius flung a wild arm out at the rows of baked goods. He breathed the intoxicating smell of buttery croissants. He hadn’t eaten dinner last night, for obvious reasons, and had spent a large portion of the night running. Morning had arrived, he was exhausted, hungry, scared, alone, and getting increasingly angry at the two Muggles. 

“Jesus, kid, go home,” the man behind him grunted. “Don’t your mummy tell you not to say that?”

_ Stop acting like such a little Mudblood– _

_ This is not a fight, Sirius– _

That was the third thing to go wrong. “Shut up, you don’t know a bloody fuck what you’re talking about,” Sirius snapped back. That man. Was really fraying his patience. And, as a matter of fact, his mother did get mad when he swore inside the manor, despite the fact that she said, in his opinion, far worse curse words. 

“Oi, watch it, you little brat!” 

_ Should’ve done this years ago– _

_ Bertram Aubrey ended up in the Hospital Wing– _

_ You bully first year Mudbloods– _

“If I wanted advice from a drunk fucker like you, I would’ve asked,” Sirius snarled.

“That’s it, I’m calling the bobbies,” Caitlyn announced, as if Sirius was supposed to care. “Get out of my store.”

_ I care not how we must force you– _

“Yeah, well fuck you and your _ bobbies,” _ Sirius snapped. The server turned and disappeared behind the swinging door. “Hey– _ hey _–where’d she go?”

“She called the cops on you, bud,” the other customer told him, satisfied. 

Sirius frowned. They’d been told in Muggle Studies that “cops” was another name for the police, who were the Muggle equivalent of Aurors. _ Caitlyn brought in the Muggle Aurors just because she thought he was drunk? _ Sirius stood, confused, for a second further. He felt like he’d missed something. Then he decided that it was time to run.

He climbed onto the counter and slid all his money back into his pocket. He clambered down on the server’s side, slid open the little glass door for the buttery croissants, and shoved half of one in his mouth.

“Hey–lady!” The man hollered. “The kid is stealing too!”

Well, it was only fair, after what she’d put him through. He _ would _have paid for it, but she’d refused the money. That wasn’t his fault. Sirius took a chocolate muffin as well, to go along with his croissant, and then climbed back over the counter. As he turned to go, the other customer rose out of his seat. He didn’t know what the man thought he was doing, but he clearly didn’t want to sit there and do nothing. 

This hungover bloke thought he could insult Sirius, get him kicked out of his first Muggle establishment, and then _ stop _him? Sirius could feel hunger melting into rage in his stomach. Well, clearly this man had never met Sirius Black before. 

Sirius planted one foot, turned to face the man (they were about the same height), and snarled, pulling back his lip until his face felt how Remus looked on the full moon. _ You wanna fight? We can fucking fight. I’ve faced worse than you. _Perhaps he’d been spending too much time as Padfoot recently, but the man looked startled and hesitated. Sirius brushed past him, putting on an air that was somewhere in between Black haughtiness and Black insanity. 

_ How long before you end up like Lycoris Black– _

He didn’t think too deeply into it. 

“Stop him!” The server cried from somewhere behind him.

“He _ growled _at me,” The other customer said, affronted. “Like an animal!”

Sirius shoved the second croissant in his mouth, barely tasting the flaky, buttery goodness, and the door slammed shut behind him. He turned away from the Thames and continued heading away from home. As soon as he was out of sight, he turned back into a dog. 

Sirius ran. 

-oOoOo-

Regulus Arcturus Black woke with a realization slowly filling his gut with dread. It had started last night, as he ghosted back to his room, secure in the knowledge that Sirius was out there in London, and no one would ever know what Regulus had done. His eyes gradually drifted open. He shifted onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. Here, in the privacy of his own mind, he felt free to review the events of the previous night. 

Sirius had fought with their parents over dinner. Then they had sent Regulus out of the room, and then they had a fight. Sirius lost the fight. And then Sirius had lost. A part of Regulus wished that he didn’t know, but most of him could never regret gaining knowledge, for any reason. Perhaps he would, eventually. But even now, as his unfortunate revelation shook him with terror, he did not regret knowing. He was scared, yes, but not for himself. No, Regulus was scared for Sirius, because Sirius didn’t know.

Sirius didn’t know. This was the realization that settled into Regulus as he woke up. Carefully, he slipped the blankets off and softly rose to his feet. He picked up his bedrobe from where he’d left it last night and headed to the bathroom at the end of the corridor. 

There was no other explanation. He hadn’t realized it last night, because as usual, his brother’s overconfidence overshadowed all doubts. But now, in the fresh light of morning, he realized that not even Sirius–especially after last night’s fight–not even _ he _–

Sirius isn’t infallible, Regulus had to remind himself. He might act like it, and Regulus might have believed that when he was younger, but over the last few years he’d seen just how not true that was. It had clouded his reasoning last night, and he couldn’t let that happen anymore. 

Sirius didn’t know. He was out there, somewhere in London, and he _ didn’t know. _ But Regulus did. He could tell him. He _ should _ tell him. It wasn’t as if he knew everything. He only knew the result, and that for whatever reason, it had been decided that Sirius should not know. Regulus didn’t even bother thinking about what his parents would say. Sirius deserved to know. _ Ravenclaw, indeed, _ he thought bitterly. He needed a way to make sure that nobody would know–again–that he was helping Sirius. But once he found a way, how could he not tell Sirius? _ He’ll hate me for it, _ Regulus thought. _ I’ll be the bearer of bad news. In his eyes, _ I _ will have done it to him. _ He didn’t want that. What if he just didn’t tell him? _ Then it will eat you up inside forever, even after he finds out. _ And he would find out, eventually. But if Regulus could just get to him first, maybe…Sirius would realize that he couldn’t change the past and accept his situation rationally. _ And maybe Merlin will rise from the dead and be declared King of Mudbloods. _

Sirius loved accusing him of being a tattletale, after all. Perhaps he ought to prove him wrong. He kept secrets for his parents, not _ from _them.

_ “ORION!” _Below him, his mother’s shriek rang through the manor. A shiver of fear ran through him. His brother’s final betrayal had been discovered. 

Regulus dried his hands with the bathroom towel, calmly putting it back on the towel ring, and exited the bathroom with an air of curiosity. The sound of his father Disapparating cracked through the hall. Regulus hurried down the staircase after him, and wandered into the dining room, where he was supposed to be at around this time, for breakfast. Kreacher would be in the kitchen, directly below the dining hall, so that he could displace their food directly into their plates whenever they did sit down to eat. Regulus waited a few seconds until he heard the muffled crack of Kreacher Disapparating below him, and knew that his parents had summoned him. He waited a few more seconds until his parents could finish whatever they were saying.

“Kreacher!” Regulus called, and a split second later the house elf appeared in the dining room.

“Master Regulus called,” the old elf muttered. “Kreacher is needed, but Master Regulus called, he did, so here Kreacher is.”

“Can you take me to my parents, please, Kreacher?” Regulus asked, and without another word, the elf Apparated both of them. Unsurprisingly, Regulus found himself in the basement, right outside the cellar door. His parents were facing away from him, animatedly arguing about whatever they could see from the door frame. 

“What happened?” Regulus asked. 

His mother spun around, a strange fire in her eyes. He couldn’t recall ever seeing it before. “Your brat of a brother, after all his grandstanding, used a _ blood rune _.” And now Regulus realized that she was happy. It was such a strange look on her. Her wand twirled animatedly in her right hand, the rings glinting in the dim lighting. 

“He wouldn’t,” Regulus responded automatically before he could stop himself and consider whether it might actually be true–speaking of things he didn’t know. But that was such an un-Sirius thing to do. They all knew Sirius didn’t learn about blood runes in Hogwarts, so he must have learned it at home and then chosen to use it. And Sirius would never do anything remotely resembling his family’s values. 

“See for yourself!” Mother said, standing to the side and gesturing for him to look. Father sent a subtle, worried glance in her direction. Regulus stepped closer cautiously, squeezing in between his two parents. The three of them barely fit in the cramped hallway. 

“_Lumos_,” Mother said from behind him, lighting the cellar from outside. Regulus himself had never been in the cellar before, but he’d seen the inside plenty of times, back when he used to wait for his parents to allow Kreacher to let Sirius out. It looked the way he remembered it; cold stone walls, bare floor. There was only one major difference: a dark brownish red, crusty pigment that had been unsteadily trailed in the center of the room. The lines needed work, but the curves were near perfect, Regulus noted dimly. The two brothers were about as well-versed in runes as each other, even though they’d both gotten a tutor at the age of eight. Sirius had made Mother stop forcing him to take lessons two years ago, the summer after his third year, by using runes to put a curse on the tutor–

Oh. Perhaps it wasn’t so surprising, then, after all. What _ was _surprising was that Sirius had kept up his skills over the years. It was really quite a good Reckoning Arc, Regulus thought, considering it had been drawn in the dark with fingers by the same person who was sacrificing the blood, at the same time as the rune was being crafted. He was almost dumb enough to be jealous. Almost. 

So that was how Sirius had gotten past the locks and the wards. Regulus had been wondering how he’d managed it since Sirius had left. _ Sweet Salazar. _ Sirius really had used blood magic. _ You were desperate, and you were a Black, _ he had said, but he hadn’t considered what that meant. _ His _ brother, _ his _ ridiculously Gryffindor brother, had sunk low enough to use blood magic. For all that Regulus himself had no qualms about using blood runes in general, he knew exactly how Sirius felt about them, and how desperate Sirius must have been to use them. _ And he doesn’t even know. What would he be capable of doing if he knew? _

“Sirius ran away,” Father said softly, and for a second Regulus was confused. They’d clearly already established how Sirius had managed to get past the wards. Or was Father surprised that Sirius really did want to run away? He’d _ been _ there last night. How could he be there, in front of Sirius, and _ not _ notice how much Sirius hated this family? _ Except me, _ Regulus reminded himself. _ He doesn’t hate me, I helped him escape, at least not yet, someone has to tell him before he finds out the wrong way, and it’s going to be me, oh Merlin he’s going to hate me forever and ever and ever _–

“But how?” Father continued, interrupting his train of thought. “This rune, while effective, could not have let him get past the wards.” He exchanged a look with Mother over Regulus’ head. “He must have done something.” _ Something else. _ Father lapsed into silence, while presumably debating with himself. _ More secrets, _Regulus thought. He wondered if either Father or Sirius would tell him. (Most likely not). 

“Perhaps more Dark magic,” Mother suggested. She laughed, her carefully maintained hair falling loose, revealing the famed wild Black locks. “For all his high-and-mighty disdain for Dark magic! He uses it the first chance he gets.” Condescension dripped from her voice. “And he dared to think he knew better.”

“Still,” Father remarked calmly. “He is gone.”

“He’ll be back,” Mother said with smug confidence. “He wouldn’t dare go to his friends now.”

For a second, Regulus was completely and blindly furious with her. How _ dare _ she speak of Sirius this way, after what she and Father did to him last night. How _ dare _ they think that they knew better when _ they _ were the ones who had made him _ like this. _

_ Breathe, Regulus, _he told himself. They think what they did was the right thing to do. Therefore, you think it is too. He tried to smooth his face out into an expression of puzzlement. “Where did he go, then?” Regulus asked, as if he assumed his parents would have the answer. If they did, Sirius wouldn’t have escaped. 

“Doesn’t matter,” Mother dismissed. “His friends will turn on him once they know. He won’t stay away for long. Perhaps we should have you write him a letter.” Her dark eyes glinted with amusement.

“Know what?” Regulus forced himself to ask. 

“We ensured his loyalty,” Father answered smoothly, without a waver, without a hint of _ oh Merlin what have I done _in his voice. Regulus hated it.

“What does that mean?” Regulus pressed.

“Nothing you need to worry about,” Mother soothed, stroking his hair with her ringless hand. “It was for his own good.” She wrapped her arm around his shoulders and guided him forwards, away from the cellar, from the evidence of Sirius’s crime. He felt himself relaxing in his mother’s embrace. So Regulus let it go, because this is where he would normally drop his pestering questions. _ Normally. _Even though he desperately wanted to know more. “We’ve spent enough time worrying about that failure of a Black. Kreacher! Is breakfast ready?”

“Regulus,” Father said, as their house elf hurried to fulfill Mother’s wishes. “Do you think he would come back if you asked him to?” 

Mother rolled her eyes, tired of talking about Sirius, since she clearly saw in her mind exactly how it would play out. And then she focused her attention on Regulus and his answer, as did Father. 

For the briefest of moments Regulus found himself waiting for something to intervene, to distract his parents until he had enough time to compose a proper answer. _ Sirius. _ He was waiting for Sirius, his always loud and always distracting brother, to get their parents’ attention off of Regulus. _ This is what you wanted, _ Regulus realized. A part of him had wanted Sirius gone so that they would stop talking about him all the time. _ So that you could have all the attention, _ whispered the same voice of Sirius that had spat out _ the Heir and the Spare _ last night. _ Congratulations, _ the cruel version of Sirius mocked him. _ You’ve got it. _ Now there was nothing standing between Regulus and his parents. What was he supposed to say? The real answer was an immediate _ no. _Sirius would know exactly who was really sending the letter. He might even send it back, with crude, unflattering drawings of Black family members drawn on it. But was that what his parents wanted to hear? 

“I don’t know,” Regulus said finally. 

His parents looked mildly disappointed. Mother grabbed his wrist and Disapparated them without a word. A few seconds later, the family of three seated themselves at the breakfast table. Father settled at the head of the table, with Mother to his left, and summoned this morning’s edition of the Daily Prophet from his office. Mother fixed her hair with a flick of her wand and then snapped it back into its holster. Kreacher brought them hot cups of tea and poached eggs. 

For the first time in what felt like years, his parents’ attention was solely on him. Regulus let himself bask in it, as they asked him questions about his studies and his circle of allies within Hogwarts (Blacks didn’t have friends–or at least the proper ones didn’t). The mess that was his older brother was finally gone for good, and now Regulus was the true, proper heir. He had all of the care that his parents were capable of offering.

And then, petulantly: _ I don’t like it. _


	3. the trials

Sirius ran.

He ran without stopping for quite some time. He wasn’t sure what time it was when he finally stopped, but the sun hanging overhead told him that he’d run for at least an hour. His throat was parchment dry by now, and what remained of his hair stuck to his sweaty face. He stunk to the high heavens. 

Sirius stopped running because he had spotted a public bathroom. For a second, he considered just running past it and not risking another bakery situation. _ Fuck it, I’m not getting kicked out of a public bathroom, _he told himself, and then stopped. 

Alright, so it wasn’t exactly a public bathroom. But he happened to see a mother giving in and taking her child into a restaurant because the kid was clearly going to pee on the street if she didn’t.

“We’re just going in to use the loo,” he heard her tell her child firmly, and a second later he stopped. What if _ he _ just wanted to use the loo? His stolen croissants sat uneasily in his stomach. If there’s trouble, he’ll run, Sirius decided, and trotted over to the bar. He waited until nobody was looking to turn back into a human, and then slipped inside the door.

A rush of cool air greeted him (_air conditioning! _Said his Muggle Studies class), relieving him from the August heat. The interior of the restaurant was plain, if nicely decorated. Several tables were occupied with families who appeared to be having a late breakfast. Sirius could hear sounds coming from the kitchen in the back, and his stomach rumbled again. He immediately located the server, who had his back to Sirius as he argued with the mom Sirius had seen earlier.

“I’m sorry ma’am, these bathrooms are for patrons’ use only,” Sirius heard him say. “If you want to use it, you have to buy something. That’s just the rule.”

The mother snapped back something about how her child was about to piss his pants, and Sirius realized that 1) they weren’t public bathrooms, and he could get in trouble for using it, and 2) the server was currently occupied, and wouldn’t notice if Sirius just left and didn’t risk further trouble.

Sirius made a beeline for the bathroom. The Muggle world, it seemed, used strange, rounded stick figures to differentiate between the men's and women’s restrooms, and their doors didn’t have handles or door knobs. They just swung inwards. The door closed behind him without fanfare, and sounds of the mother and server arguing cut off. 

Sirius sniffed and wrinkled his nose. Bathrooms in the magical world were usually charmed to smell of a certain perfume, like lavender or citrus. This one was…clearly not. Still, it looked clean enough; the sinks boasted glistening white marble and the tiled floor seemed appropriately shiny. He looked down at his own shoes. They were still as clean as when Regulus had given them to him, since he’d spent most of last night as a dog. He tensed when a toilet flushed and a man, who was clearly dressed in what was considered normal Muggle attire, walked out and shot him a strange look.

Sirius turned away from him, determined to ignore him, and then he saw his reflection in the sink’s mirror and understood. He looked like he’d just been released from Azkaban. His bloodshot eyes stared back at him. The skin right underneath his right eye socket had puffed up overnight, and the mottled purple and black color stood out on his pale skin. His hair was a trainwreck; earlier he’d felt it, but now he could see the extent of the travesty. It looked like someone had attacked him with a pair of scissors–and that wasn’t entirely inaccurate. Red lines criss-crossed his ears. His nice cloak was in direct contrast to the stained and ripped robes he wore underneath. Sirius could see the shredded collar peeking out from underneath his cloak. He would probably find that his shoulders were covered in cuts as well, if he took off his robe to check. 

He didn’t.

Sirius tentatively touched his bottom lip, which seemed to be an extra shiny red, and pulled back with a grimace when it stung. Apparently his lip was swollen as well. Fantastic. Sirius finally leaned down to turn on the water faucet and noticed that the second and third fingers of his right hand were blue and swollen. For a second he stared at the square, red imprint on the back of his hand, unaware of how his hand was just ever-so-slightly trembling. He wondered what that mark looked like to a stranger. _ It does sort of vaguely look like a table leg got dropped on me, _Sirius mused. He noticed that his hand was trembling and tried to stop it. It shook even more. 

Sirius gave up and turned on the faucet (cold, all the way). He noted duly that it hurt his hand to do so. He splashed water on his face and inhaled sharply. His cheek burned, his lip hurt, his fingers throbbed, and his ears stung. At the same time, his lungs gasped for water. _ Blacks do not snivel– _

He wanted to cry. (Again). 

The other man let out a low whistle. “Blimey, you got in some fight, huh?”

_ This is not a fight, Sirius– _

“You should see the other guy,” Sirius tried, but his voice was raspy, and he looked far from his usual, confident self that could pull that off. His cheek hurt even more when his lips stretched. He tried to grimace, but that hurt as well.

Still, the man barked out a laugh. It sounded strangely familiar, and Sirius didn’t know if that’s what made him relax a little, but he did. “Look, it may seem funny at the time,” the man said, sobering, “but it’s a bad decision in the long run, you know that, right?”

Sirius gulped down big mouthfuls of water and said nothing. He could feel the man watching him out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t know what the man was talking about, or what he thought he knew about Sirius, but he could tell that the man was making assumptions about him. Sirius’s stomach twisted in a burst of sudden rage and he turned off the faucet. Just as suddenly, the rage was gone, leaving him drained and empty. He stared in the mirror and felt nothing. 

“My eldest used to get into fights all the time,” the man said from somewhere above Sirius. “Come home with black eyes and worse and he’d say, “Well, I won”, and give his mother a heart attack.” 

Sirius focused on the reflection of the man’s shirt in the mirror. It was clean, sharp, and ironed. Like his own father’s shirts.

_There was no winning that fight, _Sirius reminded himself. He wasn’t helping himself by thinking about it, or by wondering what his relationship with his father could have been like if Sirius had just been a good Black. (But all he saw was what they could have been: settling down for a breakfast that didn’t double as a warzone; occasionally they asked his opinion on something, you know, as the Gryffindor, and weren’t they proud, first Gryffindor in the family; inviting his friends over for dinner and Mother warns him that they’re not to disturb Reggie’s studies; Father scans his OWL report and nods approvingly–just once, that’s all Sirius needed–)

The man had paused, Sirius could tell, to let him appreciate the similarity. Mothers. Am I right?

_ “I told you,” she spat, “he’d do this just to spite us–” _

Sirius pressed his fingertips into his eyelids and breathed in through his nose slowly. He barely registered the stale bathroom smell. He tried to recall the rage he’d felt last night–the rage (and the fear) that had gotten him out of the cellar, instead of this terrible feeling that was making his hands tremble. His lungs struggled to process all the water he’d just forced down his throat. The water drained unnoticed down the sink and the bathroom was once again silent. There was no winning that fight, Sirius realized, because as his father had so kindly put it, it was never supposed to be a fight. He’d been set up to fail. He’d had no chance of winning. And the sooner he internalized that, the sooner he could stop blaming himself for not being strong enough to stop them.

Right. As soon as.

“Whatever you think you’re getting out of it, you’re not,” the man said, switching tactics, noticing Sirius’s lack of interest. “Whether it’s fame, or pride, or acceptance, or–or money, there are better ways to get it.” 

“I don’t,” Sirius bit out, although he’d planned on not talking to the man. He wasn’t able to let that assumption slip past uncorrected. He’d fought because he _ had _ to. He’d fought because if he hadn’t, he would have just _ let _ them–because they wanted _ him _to–

Sirius nervously ran his hands up and down his forearms. _ But they didn’t, _ Sirius told himself. He was still clean. He was safe. He hadn’t let them. Maybe he’d lost _ that _ fight, but he’d won the war. That’s what mattered in the end, wasn’t it? They hadn’t got what they wanted.

(But several miles away, Regulus returned to his room after breakfast, thinking, _ he doesn’t know, he doesn’t know, oh Merlin what would he do if he knew–? _

He wouldn’t be as nonchalant as he had been, that’s for sure. Regulus tried to imagine Sirius saying _ ‘course, yeah, I’ll be fine, _ if he had _ known _and he just. Couldn’t).

“Then stay away,” the man urged him. Sirius noted the plain gold wedding ring as the man dried his hands with two paper towels. He wondered briefly what it would’ve been like to grow up with him as his father. 

“Forget about what other people think, kid; you’d be doing yourself a favor.”

_ –You will not continue to embarrass this family– _

Sirius rubbed the crusted blood on his lip from last night’s blood rune off and let it swirl down the drain. He stood up straight and felt dizzy. An awkward pause fell, in which the man clearly expected some response from Sirius, but Sirius was clearly not interested. If the man wanted a response, perhaps he should stop making up things about Sirius’ supposed street fight. Sirius wondered if all Muggles were this nosy. The man in the cafe and the man in the bathroom both talked about him like they knew him, when they didn’t even know his name.

_ I don’t need to be here any longer, _Sirius decided. He’d forced some water down his throat and washed off the dried blood from last night. If the man hadn’t been so nosy, Sirius probably would have inspected his poor hair, but since he was, he wanted to leave as soon as possible. 

“Do you–” _ If he mentions CPS, I swear to Merlin– _ “need help?” The man asked eventually, when Sirius proved capable of completely ignoring him, but incapable of operating a Muggle paper towel dispenser. _ How the fuck would I know, _ Sirius thought to himself. _ I barely know what day it is. I just need to find a telephone and call Remus. _

Sirius successfully wrangled his prize from the dispenser’s evil clutches. “Actually,” Sirius said, and was pleased to find that his voice sounded better than before, “do you know where I can find a telephone?”

The man–and Sirius was getting tired of calling him that in his head–gave him a strange look again. “There should be one just down the block. Do you need money to call someone?”

“Yes,” Sirius said, because more money was always better. _ Spoken like a true Black. _

The man reached into his pocket and gave him two coins, which Sirius assumed must be enough to pay for a phone call. “Do you need help?” He asked again. 

_ Blacks never stoop low enough to need help. _ And here he was, accepting help from a Muggle. “No. I’m fine. I’m always fine. When am I not?” Sirius snapped, vaguely aware that he wasn’t making any sense. What was he supposed to do with the wet paper towels? The sinks in Hogwarts went out of use soon after the students learned a basic cleaning spell. He could use a quick _ episkey _right now, if only his wand wasn’t a useless stick of wood in his pocket. 

“I’m serious,” the man insisted, probably thinking that Sirius was being sarcastic. _No, I’m Sirius, _Sirius thought, and wished that James was here. “Don’t go back to them. You’ve clearly got–” he looked Sirius up and down, and Sirius could feel the man categorizing him, assessing him. Judging him. “–Little to lose.”

_I have plenty to lose, _Sirius thought. He still had his sanity (mostly) and his dignity (well, not anymore) and his friends (in an abstract sense, in that they existed) and his magic (theoretically, but not if he wanted to go to Hogwarts in the fall). Alright, so he didn’t have much to lose but _they. Hadn’t. Won. _Who gave some random Muggle the right to judge him? 

In the end, the Muggle man left first. Sirius watched his reflection in the mirror as the man left, casually walking back into his world and leaving Sirius alone in a Muggle bathroom with two extra Muggle coins. He pocketed the coins and decided to just leave the wet paper towels on the sink. His gaunt reflection in the mirror stared back at him, and he ran his fingers over the worn surface of his wand to reassure himself (of what, he couldn’t say). 

“I wasn’t planning on it,” Sirius muttered. 

-OoOoO-

Sirius stared at the telephone box. Then he glanced around self-consciously and wondered if it would be weird to ask someone for help. Was this something all Muggles were supposed to know how to do? _ I have enough money for several tries, _ Sirius thought. The smarter side of him pointed out that he also needed money to buy food, but the Blacker sider of him pointed out that he hadn’t needed money for food so far, and that if he did in fact call Remus he wouldn’t need to worry about food. And the money was worth his pride. _ I can do this, _ he thought. _ I know the numbers. _He carefully punched in Remus’s number with his pointer finger and then picked up the phone and held it to his ear. Obviously in Muggle Studies class they hadn’t been able to use a working telephone, but Sirius was under the impression that he was now supposed to hear Remus from the other end. 

Instead, Sirius heard a faint buzzing sound. 

Nothing. He looked around again, wondering if people were judging him for talking to thin air. They _ were _ Muggles, and therefore supposed to be used to it, but that didn’t stop him from glancing at the couple whispering across the street. _ You look like a runaway, _ he thought to himself. The man in the bathroom had been able to see it. He wondered what everyone else thought of him. They probably thought he was some punk who got kicked out of the house. Got in another fight and the mother got fed up, like the man in the bathroom had thought. 

Sirius tried the number again, just in case he got it wrong the first time. He _ was _ a runaway, though. That was exactly what he had done, in every literal and legal sense of the word. He was two years underage by magical and presumably Muggle laws, and he’d just run away from his legal guardians. He wasn’t even certain who his godfather was. He knew his parents had argued between his grandfather, Arcturus Black, and his uncle, Alphard Black, but he didn’t know who they had decided on. His grandfather, as the Head of House Black, seemed like the obvious choice, but he’d recently come down with dragon pox, and he _ was _nearing eighty years old. On the other hand, Alphard was rather too liberal for his parents’ tastes, who were afraid that Sirius wouldn’t get a proper upbringing with the loony astrologer. Well, their main problem with Uncle Alphard was that he was gay. But Sirius figured that anything his parents disliked had at least some merit. 

Once again, only a static noise came from the telephone. He glanced at the little slots on the side and realized that not for the first time today, he was being stupid. Obviously the Muggles would make you pay first before letting you use the telephone. He fished his coins out of his pocket and tried to determine which fit in which hole. 

In the end, Sirius ended up pushing the coins the Muggle had given him through the slots. 

“You better work,” Sirius growled, and picked up the phone.

Static.

Sirius slammed the phone down and kicked the box, which only succeeded in hurting his toes. He swore loudly and tried to flex his toes, and then swore loudly at the box, neither of which had an effect. He could swear people were looking at him now. Sirius hunched over self-consciously and entered in the number and two coins again. Once again, the stupid Muggle phone refused to connect him with Remus.

Sirius wanted to hit something. Something that wouldn’t hurt him back. How much money did he have left? He poked through the small pile in his palm and decided he had enough for several more tries. The Muggle world was far more confusing than Sirius had thought it was going to be. Although he knew that they’d invented machines to replace magic, such as the telephone, he’d figured that nothing could really replace magic. So he’d imagined the Muggle world to be just like his, but without magic. _ What were you expecting, horse-drawn carriages? _

He shoved a few more coins down the slot, dropped one that didn’t fit, cursed, bent down to pick it up, and smacked his head on the number pad. He cursed again, fumbled around for the coin he’d dropped, and stood up. He was pretty sure that he’d just wasted those coins when he hit the number pad. Was there a certain amount of time that he had to enter in the number, or did the box wait indefinitely after money was put in for someone to enter in a number? How was he supposed to know what he got wrong? 

The stupid Muggle box sat there and said nothing. He kicked it again–with the other foot–and the winced again. _ You’re a fucking mess. What would they think of you now? _

_ –Disgrace to our ancestors– _

“Fuck them,” Sirius said out loud, but his voice lacked any real heat. “_ Fuck _them.” 

He’d noticed back in the restaurant’s bathroom that he hadn’t been able to get mad at the man, which was strange, because he usually had no problem getting angry. Sirius had been glad for the emptiness, grateful even, that he wasn’t going to cause a scene because he lost control of himself. But now a sinisterly soft humiliation pooled into the emptiness. Now it was almost as if he hadn’t been furious at the man in the bakery or the man in the restroom for their careless comments. No no, he’d humiliated himself. Acted like a wild animal, snapped at the nice man who was just trying to offer advice. He’d stolen food, for Merlin’s sake. _ Food. _Like some homeless punk kid. That’s what these Muggles thought of him. He tried to bury that voice down, to assure himself that it had been necessary, that there was nothing he could do about it now, and he had been desperate anyway. He’d been desperate, and a Black. He knew what a dangerous combination that could be; his parents’ actions last night had only provided more evidence. 

The sun beat down through the glass, burning the back of his neck. He took short, ragged breaths. The air felt stale. His hair tingled. With trembling fingers, Sirius inserted a few more of his precious coins. “I can figure this out,” he mumbled under his breath. 

He hit zero. His fingernail clicked softly on the key. _ What if I memorized the number wrong? _Neither he, James, nor Peter had ever seriously thought that they would need it. It just happened to be one of those numbers that stuck in his head, like those damned runes he’d tried so hard to forget. 

Sirius finished punching in the number and picked up the phone again, only to be met with silence again. “Maybe I have to pick up the phone before I enter the number,” he reasoned, trying to keep his breathing steady. His voice trembled anyway. Did he have to insert more money? Perhaps he hadn’t been putting enough. Maybe that’s why it wasn’t working. 

He inspected his dwindling pile of coins and figured he had enough for two more tries. He inserted more coins and picked up the phone with his right hand. He curled his left hand around his remaining coins and extended his pointer finger. Zero. 

_ Bang. _

Sirius jumped and accidentally jerked his knee into the wall. He let out a string of curses and turned around, flushing with humiliation. A middle-class woman stood outside, an ostentatious purple handbag in one hand and sunglasses in the other. Obviously she's decided to pound on the glass when Sirius proved incapable of hearing her through it. She gestured at him impatiently with her sunglasses and rolled her eyes when Sirius just stared at her, frozen.

_ Right. _Other people wanted to use the telephone booth too. Sirius turned around, even more self-conscious than before, and hunched over the number pad again. He was about to finish entering in the number when he heard a voice from the telephone. 

“Remus?” Sirius said, aware of the Muggle woman just over a foot behind him. “Is that you?”

“Excuse me?” 

Dread crept up his spine. “You’re not Remus,” he said dumbly.

“Er. No. Where would you like to place your call?”

“What?”

“Where would you like to place your call?” The person–he sounded male, but not at all like Remus–repeated calmly. “You dialed the operator?”

“The what?” Sirius asked, flustered.

“The operator,” the operator repeated. “You dialed zero?”

“Well, yes,” Sirius admitted, then had a sudden realization. “Wait, is your job to connect me to another number?” He hoped those were the terms that Muggles used.

“Yes,” said the operator, exasperated this time.

“Oh, sorry.” The knot of dread settling in his stomach loosened; perhaps this would work out after all.

“Well, what’s the number?” The operator asked impatiently. 

“Zero-one–two–three-three–” Sirius began, with confidence this time, and he heard the clack of keys from the operator’s side.

“Sorry, this isn’t an international number,” the operator interrupted, and Sirius detected a little irritation underneath the cover of politeness. 

“Er, yeah, it’s…it should be for Ashford,” Sirius agreed awkwardly, wondering what was wrong. Ashford wasn’t too far from London, unlike James and Peter’s houses. They lived in a random countryside in Devon that didn’t need to be connected to the outside world when the residents used the Floo network anyway, and Scampton, respectively. Ashford to London was about a three-hour round trip, which Sirius knew because he’d often thought about how long it would take him to get to his three friends’ various houses in case something like this happened. He hadn’t imagined that he would be so unprepared–he’d always thought that he would owl James a day ahead, or just Floo directly to his house and not have to explain why he couldn’t stay with his family. His dreams hadn’t been realistic anyway–they were only after a bad fight with his parents, and they’d often featured a motorbike. 

“Then why are you dialing the operator?” The operator asked.

“I didn’t mean to,” Sirius snapped, and already dread made its presence known again. “You told me it’s your job to–”

“International calls,” the operator interrupted again, now sounding bored as well as irritated. 

“Well…then how do I call a number in Ashford?” 

“Just call the number,” the operator said impatiently, and Sirius glared at the phone. Like that was supposed to help.

“Put in another–”

_ BANG BANG. _

The woman made herself known again and Sirius jumped on instinct again, curses flying out of his mouth. “Fuck _ off _–” he snarled.

“–five pence–_ excuse _ me?” The operator sounded genuinely offended.

“I wasn’t talking to–”

_ Click. _The line went dead. Apparently the box had finished eating all the money Sirius had fed it and closed off the call. 

Sirius cursed again and fed the box the last of his money. “If you don’t work this time, I swear to Merlin,” he muttered, and entered in Remus’ number again. Zero-one-two-three-three-wait. Was it nine-four or nine-five? Nine-five, he decided, and waited while the phone rang.

“Hello?” Said a woman from the other side.

His voice trembled. “Are you Remus’ mother?”

“Who?”

“Remus Lupin?”

“Who is that, and who are _ you _?”

Sirius slammed the phone down. “_Fuck!” _

The woman outside the telephone box opened the door. “Are you done?” Her voice was just as annoying as he thought it would be.

Sirius breathed heavily. Somehow he’d managed to run through all of the Muggle money he had and was no closer to reaching Remus–or anyone–than he had been before he’d started. Somewhere in the back of his mind he began to panic, and in a different place in his mind he was angry at the box, the operator, the sunglasses woman, but especially himself for failing him. But the overwhelming feeling that bubbled up like bile as he stared at the useless box was humiliation. The same dark humiliation that started last night in the cellar when he woke up in a pool of his own snot and misery. The one that festered when the man from the bakery brought up his mother, and the same one that he felt when the man in the bathroom looked in the mirror and immediately decided what sort of person Sirius must be to look the way he did. Before, this humiliation always gave way to anger, which led to the fights he got into with his parents. They’d never truly managed to humiliate him before, since he was always too angry and too self-righteous to really feel embarrassed. But this anger had been slowly bleeding away since last night.

“Hey you,” the woman snapped, angry that Sirius was ignoring her. “Yeah you, you little brat. Are you done?” The woman repeated, one arm leaning on the side of the door.

Sirius couldn’t name what had replaced his anger. But whatever the proper name, it was probably the reason why everything from his voice to his fingers trembled, why he didn’t snap back at the rude Muggle woman. Why the rude woman barely stirred a little ember of irritation. Why he bowed his head, as if hiding his ruined hair, and let his arms drop to his side without a fight.

“Yes,” Sirius whispered, and not another word.

He backed out of the telephone box, still not daring to look at her, and picked a random direction.

Sirius ran. 

-OoOoO-

This time, Sirius did not run for very long. Although transforming into Padfoot made it easier to lope along the streets of London, a throbbing headache slowly began to demand his attention. Sirius was a big black dog, and the midday August sun showed no mercy. He ached everywhere for various reasons, and soon his right hand–or paw–began to protest that it would never heal if Sirius kept on putting pressure on it. Sirius was inclined to ignore it, but he hadn’t eaten since breakfast this morning, he was running on at most a couple hours of sleep, and the blinding headache made it harder and harder to see straight. After almost getting hit by one of the large Muggle automobiles, he gave up and trotted into the nearest park he saw.

He had no idea where he was. As soon as he turned back into a human, Sirius located a public water fountain outside of a little cabin that seemed to be specifically made for the park. He made liberal use of the free water, ignoring the Muggle families and joggers who cast disapproving glances in his direction; at the dirty kid hunkered over the water fountain like it was his last meal. They could stare. He knew what they were thinking anyway, and it was better than whatever his family would think if they could see him now. 

He had no idea what he was doing. His half-formed plan to call Remus and stay with him until next Tuesday had just been shattered and trampled on. Not only had he not been able to use the Muggle telephone box, he’d also lost all his money in a desperate attempt to keep what little of his pride remained. He was completely lost in Muggle London. Unless his family could track him, which he sincerely doubted they would want to do even if they could, he’d effectively made himself untraceable to the Blacks. Unfortunately, he had no idea how to get back to his world. He knew the Blacks were far from the only family that had a house or apartment in London, but even if he knew how to get to one of those families, they weren’t his friends. He didn’t trust them. He knew there was a Muggle entrance to Diagon Alley though the Leaky Cauldron, but he had no idea where it was or how to find it. Hell, he didn’t even know how to find King’s Cross Station. He’d effectively cut himself off from all Muggle and magical methods of communication. 

Sirius splashed his face with water one last time and finally backed away from the water fountain. He turned to the little cabin, on the other side of the path, and wondered if he should go in. Maybe they had a bathroom. Or someone who could help. _ I’m in Oak Hill Park, _he noted duly, reading a sign on top of the door. 

For several seconds he stared behind the glass of the door and wondered whether the risk of a potential humiliation was worth a little comfort. He was just so _ tired. _His stomach felt hollow, his limbs ached from the hours of running, and all the cuts and bruises that he’d pulled or put pressure on burned. The water had lessened his headache to a dull throb, giving him the brain function to think back on what he’d just done. He wouldn’t risk it, Sirius decided, turning away from the cabin. He didn’t trust himself enough. 

_ What am I going to do now? _ Sirius wandered aimlessly away from the park center, away from the direction he came but possibly in the direction of Grimmauld Place. He was all out of plans and resources, although admittedly he hadn’t had much of either to begin with. His brain couldn’t offer anything more helpful than _ food _ and _ sleep _and now that it had begun to settle, the weight of every single one of his problems began to press down on him. 

Sirius leaned against a tree and closed his eyes. _ Can’t I just take a nap? _ He thought miserably. He could barely think in this heat, and nothing was going to happen in the next few hours that couldn’t happen after he woke up. He waited until no one was watching and transformed back into Padfoot. The dog circled around the base of the tree and settled in the spot with the best shade. _ I just need to close my eyes for a little bit, _ he told himself. _ Then I’ll come up with a plan. _

He sunk into the grass. _ No, _ said a cynical voice. _ You won’t. _

-oOoOo-

_ He’s running away from something. He can’t say what, just that there’s something behind him that’s terrifying him down to his bones. It makes his head race and his nerves spark. His head is frozen in terror. He can’t look behind him, only straight ahead. Suddenly he’s in front of Grimmauld Place. The doors swing open and Mother and Father are there, but they aren’t yelling at him. He’s on the floor of the dining room again. Then he realizes it’s the Marauders behind him, James and his friends, and it’s of them that Sirius is so, so afraid. Mother smiles and he hates it and she says– _

Sirius woke slowly, stirred out of his sleep by a gentle rain dripping through the leaves and branches above him. He remembered where he was now. His four paws were curled up on the fresh grass. His dream faded fast, but he could still remember fragments of what Mother had said. He thought that must be what woke him up for a terrible moment; fear of what was never said.

The dog stood up and stretched. Too long in the same position made your joints stiff, whether you were a human or a canine. The muscles that had been burning from all the running now seized up and felt sore. Sirius looked around and noticed how little he could see. Night had fallen. Had he slept the whole afternoon then? The park was deserted now.

Sirius transformed back into a human, confident that no one was around to see him, and leaned against the tree. The summer air smelled like dew. He used to love the smell when he was younger. The Blacks owned a property with a garden that grew more magical plants than any other plot in Great Britain. His parents used to take him and Regulus there after a rain just to experience the sheer magic in the air and in the ground. They’d tried to dig up worms instead, getting dirt on their clothes in the process, and they turned out to be regular worms anyway. Mother had yelled at Sirius, Father had yelled at the gardener, and eventually they stopped coming back. Still, Sirius had fond memories of the garden. He’d never encountered anything quite like it ever since. The smell of dew still reminded him of the garden. 

Sirius closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. Although the August morning had been sweltering, the rainy nighttime air of August was just on the side of cool. He knew eventually he would have to come up with a new plan on how to survive in Muggle London until James returned in…eight days? Seven days? Now he also needed a plan to find the Wizarding World–or at least a Floo fireplace–when the time came. His mother would rather wipe him from the family legacy and be done with it, but if she could then he wouldn’t need to hide in Muggle London. According to the law, Sirius was the heir to the Black estate. Even if something happened to his grandfather and his father, he was still the scion of House Black, whether or not he’d been kicked out of the family. His mother could burn his name out of as many tapestries as she wanted. He would still inherit the Black fortune before her. 

That sounded like a problem for tomorrow. Sirius pulled his legs to his chest and tried to hide in between them. Unfortunately, taking a several hours-long nap during the afternoon didn’t just throw off his sleep cycle, which had already been wrecked, it also meant he was completely rested and full of stress-induced energy. Tears threatened to leak out of his eyes again. _ I tried, goddamnit, _ Sirius thought. _ Why doesn’t anything ever work out for me? _ Sirius was self-aware enough to know that he sounded like a whiny brat. He was still forced to wipe his tears away with his dirt-stained fingers. A light breeze blew the light rain away from him. _ What did I do wrong? _ He felt eleven years old again, returning from Hogwarts for the first time to find that his parents still hadn’t forgiven his Sorting. _ Mistakes, _ his father demanded. _ List your mistakes. _

He opened his eyes and stood up abruptly, pushing himself away from the tree with one arm. _ Fuck Father and his fucking mistakes, _he thought half-heartedly. He needed to take a leak. 

First Sirius made his way back around the information center, trainers crunching on the dark gravel and dirt path. He leaned over the water fountain and mentally thanked the Muggles’ public services. The water was lukewarm, but at least it was there. He wiped raindrops off his arms with his hands and let the water drip off his fingers. Sirius headed over to another tree, one away from the tree he’d slept under, and took his first bathroom break in over two days. He wandered out from the cover of the trees and looked up at the night sky, holding one hand up to deflect the rain drops, and it was then that Sirius first noticed something tragic: the night sky of London had very few stars. 

He’d never seen the night sky from No. 12 Grimmauld Place. Sirius had never entered or exited through the actual front door, purposefully hidden as it was from the Muggle world. There was no backyard, porch, or garden, nor could he access the roof (although he’d tried a few times). The only place he’d seen the stars was Hogwarts, and there they were as numerous as his ancestors ghosts. Even during Astronomy classes his family had followed him, albeit in the good-natured form of jokes about his family’s obsession with constellations as names. 

_ It's probably another Muggle thing, _ Sirius supposed as he stared up at the sky in shock. Of course the clouds must be covering some of the stars, but the rain had all but stopped by now. Still, Sirius was just a little afraid of what Muggle invention could have caused the stars to disappear. 

Sirius made his way across the wide stretch of grass to the park bench blurring into the trees on the other side of the park. He flopped on it carelessly and then winced when his head cracked on the wood. He shifted on the damp wood uncomfortably, clasping his hands over his stomach and letting his legs dangle over the side.

“There’s Reggie, the little git,” he said to himself. “You’re not the brightest star in the sky. _ I’m _the brightest star in the sky.” 

But he couldn’t see the star Sirius, because a cloud was covering where it should be. “_ And _you’re in the constellation of Leo the lion, you desperate Slytherin,” he added with dark humor. He wondered how Regulus was doing now. He hoped their parents hadn’t caught him. Maybe Reg would send him a letter before Hogwarts started again. Of course, any letter Regulus sent was most likely going to be dictated or at least influenced by their parents, but it would still be nice to know that his little brother was alive and kicking. 

“At least Walburga isn’t a star,” Sirius consoled himself, having located the Orion constellation. On the other hand, the name Walburga came from Walpurgis Night, so Sirius wasn’t convinced that was a real improvement. (He still remembered what she’d said in his dream, and it was almost as terrifying as what she’d said in real life, except that one she’d actually _ meant _–)

Most of his other relatives were covered by clouds or otherwise missing, but Orion the hunter shone dimly but insistently above him. Without the other stars it was harder to tell which constellation was which, but Orion had been grilled into him so often it was basically permanently charted in his head. 

“Hey, I bet one of those is Andromeda.” 

Andromeda was a constellation and a galaxy rather than just a star, which meant she was far more likely to be seen out there than Cygnus or Pollux or any of his crazy relatives. 

“I wonder how she’s doing,” Sirius mused. 

She’d last owled him last week with advice about the dinner that had gone terribly anyway. At least she’d tried. Andy hadn’t named her daughter after a star or constellation, but she sure as hell hadn’t gone Muggle either. 

Sirius noticed that the longest he spent looking at the dark sky, the more stars he managed to make out. Alphard was next, the brightest star in the Hydra constellation, and the only other relative Sirius found tolerable. 

The last “Black” star Sirius found was Arcturus, the brightest star in the constellation of Boötes (they always seemed to pick the brightest one, didn’t they?), and the name of at least three of his ancestors, including his grandfather. Come to think of it, his grandfather wasn’t that bad, but that was probably only because Sirius had spent so little time with him. According to Peter, grandparents were supposed to spoil their grandchildren and their parents were supposed to discipline them. But Sirius knew for a fact that Arcturus had never disciplined his father, and neither had his grandmother, so perhaps that’s just how Arcturus was. Or maybe it was because Arcturus had married Melania McMillan, an all-around nice person that Sirius could not for the life of him figure out why she had married into the Black family. Or perhaps Arcturus had mellowed out with age, instead of going around the bend like most Blacks did.

Still, even if his grandfather was “mellow”, it didn’t change the fact that Sirius was absolutely terrified of him. 

“You’re a herdsman,” Sirius told Boötes solemnly. “Boötes the herdsman. Not very high-class, huh?”

Sirius sighed and closed his eyes. There was something nice about the lack of stars, although he still very much wanted to know why and where they had all gone. It was as if his ancestors had finally quieted down, or perhaps wouldn’t dare penetrate the Muggle world. He felt safe in the Muggle world. For the longest time, his family had been his primary worry. Now that they were gone, now that he knew for sure that they didn’t want him back, he felt free. A half smile twitched as Sirius realized that this was exactly what his parents had feared, and what they had threatened him with whenever he acted up: being homeless in a Muggle city. That was their ultimate punishment; to cast him out like they had Marius Black, his Squib uncle. 

The rain had completely stopped by then. Sirius, despite having just taken a nap, felt himself growing sleepy again. Maybe it was because he’d never gotten around to eating since the croissants that morning. A loud growl from his stomach did nothing to get him moving, although it did remind him that he was utterly screwed. He had nothing and no one. He’d given it all up and then lost what little he had.

_ Wouldn’t it be ironic, _ Sirius wondered idly as sleep took him once again, _ if after all I’ve managed to survive, after I finally ran away, I died in Muggle London? Not because Mother accidentally pushed me down the stairs and I didn’t bounce, not because I brought the house down on my head when I broke out of the wards, but because I starved to death on the streets of London. _It was a morbid thought, and Sirius thought it was rather funny. What better way to humiliate his family? Of course, it was highly unlikely they’d ever find out if he did. He wondered what the Muggles would do with him, and what the Marauders would do when they found out. He wondered what it felt like to starve to death. He wondered how high that probability of that happening was. 

Then Sirius Black slipped into unconsciousness again. 

-OoOoO-

When Sirius woke up, someone was prodding him. His first reaction was to push them away, because he might have already slept for hours, but he still wanted more sleep, and if they would just go away, he could do just that. 

Then his brain registered a gruff, male voice, and in his haste to sit up, he fell off the bench. He got on his hands and knees clumsily, blinking stars out of his eyes. _ It’s not Father it’s not Father it _ can’t _ be _–

“You’re not allowed to sleep here,” the voice said, and Sirius almost cried in relief. It wasn’t Father, or anyone he knew. 

He staggered to his feet and rubbed his eyes. A large man loomed over him. The sky was still dark, and his clothes were about halfway dry.

“What?” Sirius said dumbly.

“You can’t sleep here,” the man repeated, but all Sirius could focus on was how his beard moved when he spoke. He also had a weird Muggle uniform on with a golden badge pinned to his chest, but the letters were too dark for Sirius to make out.

“I–what? Who the hell?” His voice was hoarse.

“Officer Johnson,” the man said, like Sirius had seriously asked. His voice softened, and he put one of his large, friendly hands on Sirius’ shoulder. “Look, kid–it’s clearly been a rough night. I’d hate to fine your parents. Just go home.” 

Sirius shook his hand off and took a step backwards. “I can’t–I don’t–what time is it?”

“About four in the morning,” Officer Johnson answered, checking his watch. He didn’t seem to mind that Sirius had rudely shook him off, but then Officer Johnson was the one who’d rudely woken Sirius up at four and made him fall off the bench. 

Sirius rubbed his eyes. “You couldn’t just wait until morning?” He realized belatedly that “officer” probably meant that Johnson had some power in the Muggle world. 

“Sorry kid. It’s the law.” Johnson was pulling away now, his pity vanishing into the air like smoke. Sirius didn’t mind. He hated pity. “Go home.”

Sirius should have taken the hint and left. The same little voice in the back of his head that told him to get help and not waste all of his money on pride spoke up again. _ Just leave, _ it said. _ Don’t cause any more trouble. _

The sun hadn’t even risen yet and Sirius had eaten two meals in the past two days and he was so, _ so _tired. He didn’t need to give himself more problems. He needed help. Why couldn’t he just stay out of trouble for once in his goddamn life? 

_ I told you, _ Mother said gleefully, _ he’d do this just to spite us. I told you, I told you, I _ know _ you– _

“I thought this was a public park,” Sirius said snidely.

“It is,” Johnson responded. He was advancing now, chasing Sirius away from his bench. “From eight to nine everyday.”

“What are _ you _ doing here then?” Sirius retorted.

“Routine inspection, making sure there’s no garbage left in the park.” Johnson said pointedly.

The veiled insult did not go over his head. Sirius flushed–in shame, in anger, he couldn’t tell–and straightened, ready to spit back a response. “Doesn’t explain why–”

“Hey–kid,” Johnson interrupted, and he was advancing faster now, making Sirius back up all the way to the tree line. He didn’t even know why he was keeping a distance between them just that he should. “I’m serious. You’re trespassing on public property–”

“That doesn’t even make any sense,” Sirius spluttered. “I’m a M–I’m a citizen–”

“Look here, young man,” Johnson said, and one of his large, unfriendly hands came reaching out again. Sirius twisted hurriedly, certain in that second that Johnson was trying to grab him or hit him. His feet slipped on the wet grass in his haste to move back and he stumbled backwards for several more steps, steadily losing balance until he finally fell. 

Johnson loomed over him again. The pity had returned again. He reached the same hand down to help him up. Sirius knew what emotion rose this time as his cheeks flushed again. 

(Humiliation. He tripped over flat ground because he was stupidly afraid of a stupid Muggle man, and now this stupid Muggle man offered his _ help _to Sirius, as if Sirius wasn’t the one doing this to himself–)

“What’s your name, kid?” Officer Johnson asked, as Sirius pressed his hands on the grass and hauled himself up instead of accepting Johnson’s hand. 

“Si–gal” Sirius stuttered, realizing at the last second that he would prefer it if Johnson didn’t know his name. 

“Last name?”

“Barnaby,” Sirius blurted, naming the first name that came to mind. “Wait–why?” 

Officer Johnson pulled out a pen and a pad of paper while Sirius was talking and wrote _ Seagal Barnaby _down in an even script. 

“Parents names? Address?” Johnson looked up, cross, when Sirius questioned him. “I’m trying to help you, kid. You clearly have a bad reaction to authority figures. If you need to leave your home, that can be done, but through legal, _ official _means.”

_ Muggle means, _Sirius thought. “Well…I’m not telling you anything!” Sirius spluttered, at a loss for how to cleverly deflect Johnson’s questions. “I–don’t have to tell you if I don’t want to!”

“Don’t want to?” Johnson echoed, looking honestly baffled. “Seagal, I’m trying to _ help _you.” He looked like he was going to reach out again. 

“Well I don’t need your help!” Sirius yelled, pushing the officer away. “I don’t–why can’t you just leave me _ alone _?”

“Do you even have a home to return to?” Johnson pressed, somehow managing to chase Sirius further out of the park. Sirius sidestepped to avoid him this time, not wanting to repeat the earlier humiliation. 

“That’s–that’s–” Sirius spluttered incoherently. At least he was fully awake now. “Yes–and that’s none of your business–_ and _that’s not relevant!”

“Not relevant?” Johnson raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “Then why were you sleeping in the park?”

“That’s _ none of your business!” _Sirius was shouting by the end of his sentence, fists clenched in outrage at this stupid Muggle man who’d woken him up in the middle of the night to pry into his life.

“Alright,” Johnson said easily, but his voice had gone cold now. “Get out.”

Sirius stared at Officer Johnson a moment longer. _ I have no plan, _ he thought. _ No idea of what to do. I have no supplies or anything to help me and I keep on turning down help. I’m starving and permanently tired and high on adrenaline and if things don’t change, eventually I’ll be truly desperate and _what will I do then–

Sirius turned and ran. 

-oOoOo-

Sirius didn’t run for very long. Or at least, he didn’t think he ran for very long. The sun still hadn’t come up yet. He knew he ran away from the park in the same direction he came from, but he still didn’t know if that was bringing him closer or farther from Grimmauld Place. 

He walked beneath the streetlights, hands in his pockets, shivering in the early morning chill. He rolled his wand across his fingers. The rows of townhouses pressed him in on either side. They were bigger here; they weren’t as tall but they were three times as wide. Some of them even had little gardens or hedges out in front. Outwardly, they looked much larger than No. 12 Grimmauld Place, but the Blacks’ home was much larger on the inside. It wouldn’t be fit to be a Black house if there weren’t at least fifteen unused rooms. 

His thought process was a wreck. Sirius had ran away from home with half a plan and a head full of hope, and now instead of dealing with his problems he was still running. Because he just had _ so many _problems. What if they sent Kreacher after him? He didn’t know the extent of house elf magic, but he wasn’t even sure that Hogwarts could keep Kreacher out if the Blacks were desperate enough. What was he going to do now? Wander around until he either found the Leaky Cauldron or dropped from exhaustion? Would he ever break and ask someone for help? What if they refused? 

And the longer he spent wondering, the worse his questions got. What if he just returned home? He’d only been gone for a night. If he just returned, his parents would probably assume that running away for a day was just his newest form of rebellion, and then he could fly away on his broomstick this time or Floo directly to James’ house. Or make a plan and get actual resources. 

Returning home. What a terrible thought. And Sirius left it as just that, because even if he wanted to and wasn’t just desperate, he didn’t know how to find home. 

And the worst question of all: what if his parents were right? 

He didn’t even have to pause and think just what his parents could be right about to know that he hated the very idea of it. 

Still. What if they were right about _ him? _ He knew what his parents were like when they fervently believed in something. They’d meant every word of what they’d said. He’d told himself this again and again since he’d left, but a part of him still couldn’t believe it. _ It doesn’t matter if they think they’re right, _ Sirius told himself. _ They’re lying. They don’t know what they’re talking about. _

(So why was Mother still crowing in the back of his mind, more than a day after he’d finally run away, why was she still grinning like the ghoul she was, and even when she was trying to pat his cheek like she felt an ounce of affection, her four rings scraped his skin but he didn’t even wince because it didn’t _ matter _–)

Sirius was nothing like them. He hunched over, even though he was alone on the streets. His parents could think whatever they wanted to, because Sirius had left before they could make him do–whatever it was they wanted him to do. His mother thought whatever she wanted anyway.

Sometimes, on a bad night at Hogwarts, or his last night staying with James before he had to return home, Sirius would insult his mother in a way that went past surface-level insults. Everyone in their year had heard Sirius call his mother a hag at least five times. _ Everyone _ at Hogwarts had heard at least one offhand joke about their backwards traditions and values. James was the only one who’d ever heard Sirius try and stumble through his explanation of _ sometimes, when Reg has left the room, when she tells me, it’s just, I can’t, I need to get away but I don’t know how, you don’t understand _–

No one had ever heard Sirius talk about his father. Not Regulus, who didn’t need to hear from Sirius what he’d seen for himself, not even Prongs or his other friends. And Sirius intended to keep it that way. That required burying the memories of Tuesday’s dinner, hiding the evidence left on his body–there was nothing to be done about his hair, but Sirius already had a dozen excuses lined up, each one worse than the last–and shredding the words his father had said, and _ not thinking about him. _Of all the problems Sirius currently faced, that was probably the hardest. 

_ I begged him, _ Sirius thought miserably. _ I called him Dad. Maybe that was my mistake. _Mistakes. Father again, making sure he would never be forgotten.

Sirius finally stopped staring at his own feet and raised his head long enough to look around, furtively scouting out the houses. He felt the same belligerent attitude boiling up again, the same one that had yelled at Officer Johnson and growled at the man in the bakery. It was how Sirius dealt with all his family-related problems, and it hadn’t really let up since the moment he’d finally panicked and torn down the wards. 

It wasn’t helpful anymore, but Sirius didn’t know how else to deal with the ghosts chasing him around London. 

Sirius finally stopped walking and sighed deeply. He had to decide what he was going to do. When he inhaled, he caught a whiff of something sweet. He looked around and noticed that the ground floor window of one of the houses was open, just a crack. His stomach panged with hunger, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten for almost a full day. He should come up with a plan to find food–in a way that didn’t include stealing. He should come up with a plan for how he wasn’t going to survive from Thursday to next Tuesday, one that included finding a Floo fireplace by Tuesday. 

Instead, Sirius hopped over the hedges and made his way through the house’s little front yard. He leaned down, sticking his nose through the crack, and inhaled deeply. Yep, that was a pie, cooling on a counter just a meter from the window. If his Animagus form wasn’t a dog, he wouldn’t have smelled it. He should decide what to do before he got himself in more trouble. He knew he was desperately hungry and also out of money, but there had to be a better way than breaking into somebody’s house and stealing food from their kitchen. He just didn’t know what it was.

Sirius slid his hands under the crack and felt for the latch. He saw it about halfway up the window and forced his arm through all the way up to the elbow, which he then bent with considerable effort. His fingers finally grasped the little silver lever and pulled sharply. The weight of the window suddenly dropped on his already squished forearm and Sirius pressed his lips together to keep from cursing out loud. He yanked his arm back through, scraping his elbow on the ledge, and then caught the window with both hands before it could close on him. He pushed it all the way up and then turned the lever again with his left hand. 

He hopped on the window sill and looked behind him. No one was around. _ This is a terrible idea, _ he thought. _ It’s gotta be illegal. You know it’s wrong. You know what they would say if they knew. _

And that was exactly what finally propelled Sirius through the window. He landed with a soft thud on the wood floor, his shoes already leaving mud prints on the ground. _ Merlin, I’m really doing this, _he thought to himself, almost giddly, high on danger and adrenaline. His robes trailed more dirt over the window sill as Sirius left it behind and crept over to the marble counter outlined in the dark. 

_ Would James go this far? _ The thought stopped Sirius in his tracks, even though he was still sick with hunger. Sirius dismissed the thought as he maneuvered around the marble counter. James would never be in his situation. James had never gone hungry in his life. Neither had Sirius, for that matter. At least not because his parents didn’t have the money. Not because he didn’t have parents and _ he _didn’t have the money. Sirius might have cried himself to sleep in the basement and missed a few dinners, but he’d never truly worried when his next meal would be. He’d never been desperate before. How was he supposed to know what James would do?

Sirius found his prize on the other side of the counter. A beautiful, nine-inch fruit pie lay waiting for him, like a piece of cheese for a mouse. A slice of the pie had already been taken. Sirius almost took the pie and left. But since he was already here, he might as well take something else. 

_ This is a terrible idea. _ The voice in the back of his head was at it again, wailing and screaming and demanding attention. He almost listened to it. _ Sirius Orion Black, what the hell are you doing? _The voice sounded like his mother. He didn’t listen to it. 

He found the refrigerator next. His parents would obviously never use a refrigerator, but Sirius had learned about common Muggle appliances in Muggle Studies, and one that he’d badgered Remus about more than he really should have was the refrigerator. Sirius opened the door and blinked when he registered that the inside of a refrigerator was, in fact, cold. He’d been told as much, but Remus hadn’t been able to provide a satisfactory answer as to how, and neither had his teacher. He took their word for it that there was no magic involved, but given that his only explanation was “add a few freezing spells to a metal box”, it might as well be magic.

Then Sirius saw the beer.

Prior to seeing the beer, Sirius couldn’t have said what he was looking for. He knew refrigerators were for keeping food cold, and that he wanted a cold drink. But as soon as he saw the beer he knew exactly what he was going to be drinking. In his life, Sirius had only had at most a few sips of alcoholic drinks. The good people of Hogsmeade knew better than to sell the Marauders any, the Potters didn’t have alcohol in the house, and neither did the house elves of Hogwarts. The only place Sirius had actually managed to acquire any was his own home. So although the idea of alcohol was, well, intoxicating, Sirius had never experienced the effects of it before. And so Sirius’s tired, hunger-addled brain decided that he should try the beer right there, just to see if he liked it. He fumbled with the lid of the bottle with clumsy fingers. When it refused to open, he pulled harder. The cap popped off and went flying across the room, and he accidentally splashed beer on himself and the floor. Sirius froze for a second. The quiet _ tink _ of the cap skittering across the floor didn’t make much noise, but it was significantly more noise than Sirius had been causing previously.

The house stood silently. Sirius finally started to move again and raised the beer to his lips. It tasted…a lot more watery than he had expected. He wasn’t sure what he had expected. Sirius continued drinking. 

Eventually, when he’d drunk…half the bottle? Two-thirds of the bottle? Sirius put it down on the counter and made his way back to the fruit pie. He almost slipped in the beer he’d spilled earlier, but steadied himself on the counter. He should’ve taken the pie and left then, but he’d forgotten about that plan by then, and he was too hungry to wait anyway. Sirius broke off pieces of the pie with his hands and stuffed them into his mouth. He tasted apple, dough, and sugar. Such simple flavors had never tasted better in his life. 

Two minutes later, after Sirius had finished eating his way through the pie, he turned his attention to the cupboards. He immediately found a box of cookies, but somehow in his attempt to both get it down from the shelf and open the box at the same time, it ripped open with a terribly loud noise. Sirius jumped in fear–he’d forgotten he was in somebody else’s house. 

Again, he waited impatiently for the sound of someone waking up, but all too soon he gave up and went back to his cookies. They were both drier and sweeter than the pie, which prompted Sirius to go back to the refrigerator in search of more beer. By the time his thirst was finally quenched, Sirius had gone through the entire box of cookies, several containers of deli meats, at least three bananas, some leftover salad (yes, he was desperate), and a can full of mixed nuts. At that point he decided that there was no way that he could cover up the evidence of his crime, and that he should just leave before someone woke up and caught him.

He leaned over the sink, head spinning wildly. He’d crammed so much food into his stomach in the last ten–or maybe twenty–minutes that it felt ready to rebel and throw it all up. He braced both hands on the side of the sink, trying to prepare himself for any sudden movements his stomach made. 

Behind him, the lights turned on. 

Sirius spun around. He barely made it around before his head spun even harder and he promptly leaned over and threw up on the floor. His chest heaved with the exertion, and he immediately spun around again to turn on the tap water. He rinsed out the taste of vomit from his mouth with desperate gulps of lukewarm water, and then unsteadily stood up again. The lights had turned on. Why?

Sirius turned around, carefully this time, and had his answer.

The kitchen was as he left it. Empty bottles of beer–and there were more than he remembered drinking–lay on the counter, surrounded by opened packages, containers and crumbs everywhere. The window he’d come in from was still open all the way. Sirius immediately wanted to bolt for the window, because there, underneath the electric lights of the Muggle kitchen, stood two men. They had matching uniforms, and the same little badge over their right pocket. 

“Well,” Officer Johnson said, sounding very tired and very resigned, “you’re under arrest.”

Sirius paused for one second too long. _ Damn, _ he thought. _ I’ve been had. _Then he ran for it.

Officer Johnson ran after him, and probably would’ve caught up to Sirius before he made it out the window, but Sirius saved him the effort by tripping over his own feet. He tried to scramble up again, but he was off-balance, and Officer Johnson caught his arm. Sirius pulled away, failed to make Officer Johnson move an inch, and only succeeded in pulling himself off-balance. 

“I knew there was a burglar!” Crowed a voice. Sirius finally noticed the old lady hiding behind the second officer. “I knew–everyone says, ‘Crazy Old Selma, all alone, making up burglars to attract attention!’ Ha! That’ll teach ‘em. _ Basket case. _Basket case, my left foot. Why they call me crazy? You tell me.”

“It’s probably all the beer you keep in your refrigerator,” Sirius sniped, letting his mouth run away from him again. 

Officer Johnson narrowed his eyes, entirely unaffected by Sirius’ increasingly frantic attempts to break his grip on his arm. “Have you been drinking?”

Sirius cursed his runaway mouth again. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth. He couldn’t seem to concentrate on Johnson. He rolled his eyes. “No drunk I’m not officer,” he answered easily, confident in his lying skills, and then frowned. “Wait. No officer–”

“Add underage drinking to the list,” Johnson told the other officer; a stout, portly man almost shorter than the old crazy lady behind him.

“I’m–of age!” Sirius spluttered. He and Officer Johnson were conducting an awkward dance around the kitchen counter in which Sirius attempted to get away and Johnson refused to let go. The basket case lady skittered back when they came around her side of the counter. “Let _ go _of me!”

“Yeah? How old are you, kid?” Johnson asked, completely ignoring Sirius’ demand. 

“Seventeen,” Sirius said immediately. He’d been told he could pass for a legal adult before by a wide array of people. He hoped this included Muggles.

Johnson rolled his eyes. “Add underage drinking to the list,” he repeated dryly.

Sirius blinked in shock a few times, and then gave up on passive attempts to get away. Johnson still had an iron grip on his right arm, so Sirius grabbed Johnson’s arm with his left hand, lifted both legs, and kicked the man in the stomach with both feet. 

Johnson, as Sirius had suspected, proved incapable of holding all of Sirius’ weight with one arm and taking a kick to the stomach at the same time. He finally let go of his arm, and Sirius fell to the floor on his butt. He wasted no time getting up, and literally had one foot out the window when a hand wrapped around his other leg and pulled hard. Sirius crashed to the ground for the third time in a matter of minutes and rolled on the floor dizzily. His head spun hard, and he almost threw up again. By the time he blinked spots out of his eyes, each officer was on either side of him. They were each holding an arm. When Sirius staggered up, he was forced to bend over, his arms twisted behind him. He tried to pull free, but his arms were shaking. He wasn’t sure he could see straight. Maybe he _ was _drunk. 

“Add assaulting a police officer to the list,” Officer Johnson said, even though the other officer presumably couldn’t hold their precious list and twist his arm at the same time.

“Let me _ go_,” Sirius snarled.

“Seagal, are you sure you want to add another charge to the list?” Johnson asked rhetorically, once again ignoring Sirius. “Look, it’s been a long night for both of us. Let’s just all go back to the station, where we can talk this out.”

“He’s not getting away without spending some time in jail!” The old lady demanded. “And his parents need to pay for damages!”

“I’m sorry, but you don’t get to decide that, Ms. Caulfield,” Johnson said evenly.

“Wait, you know this kid?” The other officer asked at the same time.

“I met him earlier this night in Oak Hill Park,” Johnson answered. “This is Seagal Barnaby.” 

The idea that his parents might have named him _ Seagal Barnaby _almost made Sirius Black laugh out loud. He didn’t, not because he was smarter than that, but because thinking of his parents made him want to cry, not laugh. 

Johnson shifted his grip, and Sirius felt something metal close over his wrist. He pulled desperately, bringing his legs up and trying to kick both men, but they moved out of the way and refused to let go. They forced his arms together and before Sirius realized what they were doing, slipped the same metal ring over his other wrist. Then they each slipped an arm through his, so that Sirius was effectively pinned on either side. He could refuse to move and they could still carry him out. 

“Isn’t that right, Seagal?” Johnson said.

“_Fuck _you,” Sirius said, with feeling. 

Johnson sighed. “_Please _ don’t add resisting arrest to the list of charges.” Johnson still sounded tired, and maybe a little bit like he was begging.

“It’s already been added,” the other officer said. 

Johnson closed his eyes and sighed again, deeply. “Alright. Fine. Let’s go.”

Sirius tried to glare at both of them, but neither bothered to meet his eye. He gave up protesting and demanding that they let him go. He knew he was guilty as sin, after all. He’d known it was a crime to break into Selma Caulfield’s house and steal from her kitchen. He dragged his heels on the ground and refused to cooperate, tried to twist his arms out of their grip, and finally glared at the crazy old lady who shrieked and hid behind the corner. 

“He’s snarling at me!” Ms. Caulfield shrieked. Sirius grinned maniacally, pleased with himself, and she shrieked again.

The officers opted to ignore this exchange in favor of hauling Sirius out of the room, down the main corridor of the house, and out the actual front door. A real police car waited for them on the side of the street. Sirius would probably have been excited to ride in a real Muggle car–and a police one, no less–if they hadn’t unceremoniously shoved him in the backseat. The two officers climbed into the two front seats, with Johnson at the wheel. 

For a second, Sirius let his eyes close. _ Merlin, _ he thought despairingly, _ what have I done? You knew that you shouldn’t have done it and you did it anyway. You did it just to spite them. Now you’re in even more trouble, and it’s completely and entirely your fault. _

Arrested by Muggle police. His cousin Bellatrix would laugh. Narcissa would be ashamed on his behalf. Andromeda would put her head in her hands and sigh. Regulus would say that perhaps it was fitting for his Muggle-loving brother. James would laugh, and Peter would follow his lead. Remus would look disappointed. His various aunts and uncles would tell his parents to “do something about your firstborn” before it was too late. His parents would be incensed. They’d go for the Muggle police first, and then they’d come for him. 

But no one was there with Sirius on that sorry August night of 1975. No one to see the flush of shame on his cheeks reflected back at him in the car window. Sirius sat alone in the backseat, stomach full with apple pie and humiliation. 

He had no plan. He had no resources. He had no friends. And now he was in trouble with the Muggle police, who wanted to contact his parents. Sirius was fairly certain that they couldn’t find the Blacks through any Muggle means, but he still couldn’t let them contact his parents. So somehow he needed to get away from the police without using magic, and afterwards they would likely be after him, since escaping arrest was likely a crime in the Muggle world as well. Then he had six days to find a way back to his world, while surviving on the streets by himself. _ If I’d run away just a week later… _Sirius dismissed the thought. What was he supposed to do, wait for his parents to let him out of the basement? 

Sirius squirmed in the backseat. He could pull on the folds of his robe with his fingers, thus bringing his pockets into reach. If he twisted, he could reach his wand. He could fire off a _ petrificus totalus, _ maybe an _ alohomora _ or two, and be on his way. Hell, he could even cast an _ obliviate _if he wanted to cover his tracks. Sirius leaned back and thought of Hogwarts, and how likely it was at this point that he would ever find his way back there, expelled or not. 

The car started. The time was 4:56 a.m. on Thursday, August 13, 1975. Sirius Black looked out the window of a police car and made the first and only smart decision he would make that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> only one more chapter of him flailing around London


	4. the blacks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so I wrote this long before the police protests, but I didn't post it during the police protests for obvious reasons. I wanted my OC police to feel like real people, but now they sort of make me uncomfortable? Obviously I have no idea what British police were like in the 70s, but there's no denying that Sirius is a rich white kid, and that's well
> 
> anyway
> 
> enjoy I guess

Sirius stared out the window and refused to speak. The features of the Muggle buildings gradually sharpened as the sun rose on the third day. Officer Johnson tried half-heartedly to get Sirius to talk, but he only wanted to know “what were you doing out at night?” and “where are your parents?” and Sirius had already figured out just how much trouble talking could get him into. He couldn’t cross his arms to express himself, so Sirius settled back angrily into the seat and glared out the window. The streets whizzed by, but he couldn’t even enjoy his first car ride, all because of those two stupid Muggles. 

“You’re not helping yourself with the silence, kid,” Johnson said.

Sirius scowled at the back of his head briefly, but didn’t rise to the bait. He went back to scowling out the window. He wanted to know how much longer the car ride was going to be, and where they were going, but he didn’t ask. Everything he said seemed to dig himself a deeper hole. He couldn’t even make a plan anymore, because he had no idea what he was getting into, or what the rules were here. 

“We’re going to have to contact your parents,” Johnson reminded him for the thousandth time. Johnson seemed to be under the impression that by not telling them, all Sirius was accomplishing was making it harder for them to find his parents. _ As if they would ever be on Muggle records, _Sirius’ thoughts sneered. He glared at the back of Johnson’s head a little more before he finally gave up. Sirius closed his eyes and rested his head on the seat cushion. The past three days had thrown his sleep schedule off enough that he was now in a permanent state of being tired but wired. 

“You were so talkative back in the house,” the other officer chided. “What happened?” 

Sirius didn’t even bother to open his eyes. The fight had drained out of him by now. He’d really only been mad at himself, both for being caught and for breaking into the house in the first place. _ I hope you’re satisfied now, _he thought to himself sourly. The apple pie sat guiltily in his stomach. He tried to forget the two officers in the seats in front of him. He tried to forget about his hands locked together behind his back. He tried not to feel helpless. It didn’t work.

All right. Time to plan, then. The officers were taking him to a police station, presumably a secure location with more police officers. They wanted to contact his parents, and they wouldn’t even consider letting him go until they did so. Sirius wouldn’t let them contact his parents, although he doubted they were even capable of contacting them. Perhaps he should escape before they arrived at the station. Transforming into his Animagus form didn’t count as magic, but doing it in front of the Muggles would definitely be a breach in the Statue of Secrecy. But he couldn’t think of a better way to get rid of the handcuffs and get the Muggles off his trail. 

On the other hand, Sirius could always give them fake parents. Muggles obviously couldn’t contact people immediately. Perhaps they’d ask for a telephone number? Sirius wasn’t sure if the order of the numbers held any meaning, but he was fairly confident that if he changed just one number in Remus’ number, they would buy it and leave him alone to go find one of those red telephone booths. If they asked for an address, Sirius could always give them his real address–No. 12 Grimmauld Place. It didn’t exist in the Muggle world, but it was on a real Muggle street, hidden in between the Muggle houses No. 11 and No. 13 Grimmauld Place. 

Sirius could almost see it now: Patricia and Dave Barnaby, doting parents of Seagal and…Reginald Barnaby. It seemed seventeen wasn’t the legal adult age in the Muggle world, so he might as well tell them that he was fifteen. Perhaps they’d be more sympathetic towards a younger Sirius. It also saved him the effort of remembering what age he claimed to be. Patricia Barnaby had passed away in a terrible accident, Sirius decided with glee, which involved her slipping in a puddle and falling down the stairs. Dave Barnaby was a businessman, and he was in…India on business. The business of hair products. _ I just stole James’ dad, _Sirius realized, and felt no regret. 

Dave Barnaby had left his two children; fifteen-year-old Seagal, and thirteen-year-old and stuffed shirt Reginald alone in the house. Last night, Seagal, ever the rebellious child, left to stay the night at his friend’s house, despite Reginald’s protests that he shouldn’t leave the house when their dad was gone, and that he shouldn’t leave poor little Reginald alone in the house. Seagal spent several hours with his friend (John, house in Oak Park neighborhood) before feeling guilty and deciding that he shouldn’t leave his little preteen brother alone in the house. So he made his way back, got lost, and after wandering around for several hours fell asleep in the park. Then he went and robbed Old Selma’s house because…he was hungry.

That, Sirius decided, was a very good Plan B. Plan A was still “escape before we reach the station”, but that required the Muggles taking their eyes off him long enough for him to transform in a place that wasn’t inside the police car. He wasn’t going to rely on that. 

After he distracted the police sufficiently, all he had to do was a little transformation and he’d be on his way. Then he’d have six days to find his world again, possibly while avoiding the Muggle police the whole time. 

It occured to Sirius that he _ did _know the addresses of a couple of magical residences also in London. Simply by living with his socialite elitist parents for fifteen years, Sirius had accidentally memorized the Floo addresses of several of the London residences. 

He knew that the Prewetts had an unused flat somewhere in London; when he was younger, he used to visit his Aunt Lucretia and his Uncle Ignatius all the time for holidays and birthdays. They would often stop by at Lucretia’s flat, sometimes just so that his father could spend more time talking to his sister in person. They had argued more and more as the years passed as the Prewetts aligned themselves more and more with the “wrong sort of wizards.” Six years ago, when Uncle Ignatius’ brother Magnus Prewett allowed his daughter to marry a Weasley, Sirius’ mother decided that they couldn’t socialize with that side of the family anymore. Sirius had sulked for weeks, because he’d always gotten along well with Aunt Lucretia’s nephews, Gideon and Fabian Prewett. 

But the real blow came when Sirius went to Hogwarts and met his cousins again in Gryffindor House, and although they immediately got along like a house on fire, not once did they acknowledge Sirius as their cousin. Which was fine. They weren’t the ones that decided they weren’t good enough to even talk to him anymore; Walburga had done that for him. Sirius couldn’t blame them for not wanting to be cousins with the Blacks, since they technically weren’t related through blood anyway; they only shared an aunt, and they got along fine with Sirius anyway. 

Gideon and Fabian had both graduated Hogwarts by now, and the London flat had just Aunt Lucretia and Uncle Ignatius now. If Sirius gave the address to the police, would they drive him there? They wouldn’t be able to find the house–it too was hidden from the Muggle world–but Sirius would be able to, and he’d already broken into one house. If he wasn’t distracted by food, surely he wouldn’t be caught.

“Leave the kid alone, Harold,” Johnson said, hypocritically reproaching the other officer for pushing Sirius to talk.

“You haven’t let up since we got in the car,” Harold pointed out.

Johnson sighed. “Yes, and it’s clear he’d rather be stubborn about it and make everyone’s life harder. Just leave him be. He’ll talk in the station,” he added ominously.

They were talking about him like he wasn’t even there, making assumptions again, but Sirius refused to be riled. Now with three tentative plans in place, Sirius slowly opened his eyes again and resumed staring out the window. His list of prospective future bad decisions stacked higher. He smirked at the trees outside and said nothing. _ Bring it on, _ he dared the world. _ Do your worst. I’m waiting. _

And the world answered back, more ominously than Officer Johnson ever could. _ Oh Sirius, _ the trees whispered. _ You dear, naïve child. _The sunrise swallowed the sky above him; this little Gryffindor boy full of bluster and bravado, alone in a world eager to swallow him up. The tall oak trees swayed and taunted him. The houses blurred into one gray facade. The few remaining stars had vanished from the sky, overshadowed by the brilliant dawn light; an orange and Gryffindor-red canvas that spilled softly from the horizon. 

_ You little innocent boy, _ the stars said pityingly, glittering with a malice Sirius couldn’t see. _ I’ll have you broken by the next dawn, _ they promised, hidden behind a morning sky and the false promise of a better tomorrow _ . _

But Sirius didn’t hear the trees, or the stars, or the eager anticipation of a world ready to leave him crying in an alley. He looked away from the window, and the police car drove on.

-OoOoO-

Andromeda Black Tonks learned about her cousin’s disappearance over a day after the rest of her former family did. This was, of course, because her former family would rather talk to a Muggle than talk to her, so she didn’t hear it from her family; she heard it from Emmeline Vance. The two of them had been close friends in Slytherin House, but unlike Andromeda, Emmeline hadn’t been blacklisted by the Blacks, so she was still able to pass on the relevant gossip to her. 

“Sirius is your cousin, right?” Emmeline asked.

Andromeda pressed the telephone closer to her ear as Ted gave up on shushing Nymphadora and took her out of the room. “What?”

“Your cousin. Sirius? The troublemaker Gryffindor kid?” Sirius and Andromeda had been each other’s favorite cousin, but they hadn’t talked all that much at Hogwarts. Sirius and his friends, however, made quite a name for themselves at Hogwarts. 

Andromeda frowned at the kitchen counter. “What about him?” While she, the model Slytherin, had never been particularly close with her much younger cousin, they’d grown considerably closer after Sirius became the only Black who would talk to her. According to Sirius, his parents had officially told him never to interact with her ever again, but what his parents officially said or did had never stopped Sirius before. He’d sent most of her personal library by owl, as she hadn’t been able to get her hands on that before leaving, and in return she found him a few books on Animagi transformations. (She did not know what he wanted with them, and she didn’t ask). 

“Word is, he ran away,” Emmeline said.

Andromeda tucked her feet on either side of her chair and leaned forward as if she could see Emmeline. “What?” she said again. “How do you know? When?”

“Tuesday night. I heard it from Callum Bysson, you know, my sister’s new boyfriend, who heard it from one of his coworkers, Everworth Prewett, who heard it from his aunt, Lucretia Prewett, who heard it from her brother, Orion Black.”

Andromeda blinked twice at this tirade, long since used to how thoroughly her friend checked her sources, and then turned her head as Ted came back into the kitchen and started devouring his soup again. Usually they only had time for a quick sandwich during their lunch breaks before they both had to go back to their jobs, but today was a Saturday, so Andromeda had made them a soup. Ted paused from inhaling his soup to raise an eyebrow–_ everything okay? _ –to which Andy shook her head. _ Bad news. _

“Why? Does anyone know where he went?”

There was a pause in which Andromeda assumed Emmeline was shrugging. “I’m too far down the grapevine, I’m afraid. If anyone knows, it wouldn’t reach me. Have _ you _heard from him?”

Andromeda leaned back in her chair and thought back to the last she had heard from Sirius. “I haven’t heard from him in a week or so.” 

In Sirius’ last letter, he’d complained about another dinner scheduled for next week with–the Rowles? The Rosiers? She couldn’t quite remember. It had been scheduled for Tuesday night, she remembered that. So clearly, something had gone very wrong regarding that dinner. Had Sirius done something especially scandalous? That didn’t sound…unlike him. He’d been better at staying out of trouble this summer, partly because she’d been giving him advice, and partly, she suspected, because of whatever happened between him and his friends last year. August had arrived and the summer was ending, so he was probably at the end of his rope. But Andromeda was also aware of what Sirius had been able to get away with, however, due to his position as heir and the fact that he was no lightweight when it came to magic. So what could he have possibly said or done now that had crossed such an unforgivable line? 

Or perhaps Andromeda had it all backwards. The Blacks would rather forget than forgive, and Sirius was no exception. What was it that his parents had said or done that convinced Sirius that he would not make it to seventeen if he continued living with them?

“_Could _ you hear from him?” Emmeline asked hesitantly. Would he answer? Did he trust her enough? She didn’t know. 

“Possibly,” Andromeda said finally, drumming her fingertips on the counter. Ted was already summoning pen and paper from their living room. 

“I heard they’re looking for him,” Emmeline added. “I don’t know how true that part is, though.”

“Why would they?” Andromeda asked. She assumed their first reaction would be to burn him off the tree and pretend they weren’t related to him.

“I don’t know,” Emmeline repeated. She was silent for a moment, clearly out of things to say. “Anyway. I just thought you would want to know.”

“I did,” Andromeda said. “Thank you, Em.”

“Always. Say hi to Dora for me, would you?”

“Mhmm,” Andromeda said distractedly, and hung up.

Ted pushed her soup towards her, but for a second she simply stared straight ahead. Since he’d been able to hear everything, it was him, then, who voiced what she was thinking: “We could adopt him for two years.”

And then it was Andromeda, the Slytherin, who played Devil’s Advocate. “But who will support him afterwards, if he needs it? We’re only six years older than him.”

“You’ve already been offering him emotional support since we graduated,” Ted pointed out. “We have enough money to cover his expenses. And we can’t just leave him alone, can we? He’s family.”

Even as they argued, Ted handed her the paper and she wrote _ Sirius _ on the top of the page. “What about his friends?” Andromeda countered. “Can’t they take him in?” _ I heard you ran away from home, _she wrote.

“But that puts the burden on his friends’ parents,” Ted said, “who might not want to take care of another teenager for two years.”

“Not if he’s in Hogwarts, he’ll just be back over summer break.”

“Exactly,” Ted said. “But tell him he’s always welcome during the spring and winter holidays. And,” he added, looking hesitant now, “he’s all you have left of your family, isn’t he?” He knew it was still a touchy subject for her, as he was indirectly the cause. Andromeda had given up everything for him. She’d known what she was doing, obviously, and she’d still chosen him over them, but he still felt that the least he could do in return was welcome her wayward cousin. 

It wasn’t as if Andromeda would be putting her family in any more danger than they already were by taking Sirius in. She was in “trouble” with the purebloods for embarrassing the Blacks, sure, but no more than the Weasleys or a Muggleborn family. She and Ted bought their house through the Muggle world, thereby making the location, if not herself, untraceable to her former family. And the Blacks weren’t all-powerful, they only thought they were. 

_ I just wanted to let you know that you are always welcome to stay with Ted and I, _Andromeda wrote, and then put down her quill. Because that was the truth of the matter, wasn’t it? She missed being a Black. Of course, she’d never raise her own daughter as one, and she would celebrate if Nymphadora was Sorted into Hufflepuff, but she would celebrate if Nymphadora was Sorted into Slytherin as well. But she missed being able to pass on gossip to Emmeline, rather than hearing it from her. She missed the unashamed filthy riches of the Blacks that let her go through seven years of Hogwarts without worrying about money and let her buy the most expensives dresses for every party. She missed the immense history of the Blacks, centuries of violence and oppression that she used to be proud of when she felt like she belonged, the piles of ancient books and artifacts that held knowledge the Ministry would never allow to be made public. She missed the extended family of the Blacks, the security in knowing that in every corner there was someone who would support her, just because she was a Black. 

But then why had she never felt safe as a Black? In all the years before and after she left the family, she’d never been able to pinpoint what was it about the Blacks that drove her constant fear, or their endless madness, the so-called Black family curse. _ Conditional love, _ she thought, maybe their love had too many strings attached, since they thought she owed them so much for the privilege of being a Black. But wasn’t all love conditional, in the end? She couldn’t imagine herself ever leaving Ted, but if he ever hurt their daughter the way the Blacks hurt their children, the way her father had treated her, then she _ would _leave him without regret. She knew he never would, but that was a condition, wasn’t it? She loved her daughter, but if her daughter grew up to be a murderer…well, that would make it so much harder, wouldn’t it? Then she thought maybe it was the lack of freedom, because of the demands the Blacks made of their children. But that was true for everybody for different reasons. Nymphadora would lack certain freedoms in her childhood simply because of her Muggleborn father and her disgraced mother, who weren’t as rich as the old pureblood families, just as she would be limited because she was born a girl. It wasn’t the Blacks’ bigotry, she knew that–she was only human, after all, so she’d believed them right up until she fell in love with Ted Tonks. 

What Andromeda knew for certain was that although she missed them terribly, nothing in the world could drag her back there. What she didn’t dare to wonder was if any of them missed her. What she did wonder was if Sirius felt the same. 

It was a choice all Blacks would have to make at some point in their lives. It was a fight all of them inherited from the Black blood running through their veins. Andromeda had fought and won her happiness, but she was only the middle daughter of a third cousin, and she had paid a heavy price regardless. Sirius might not get that choice. Sirius might not win that fight. 

_ At least until next year, _ she continued, _ but until you graduate Hogwarts if need be. If not, still let me know how you’re doing. Don’t keep me waiting, you prat. _

Ted’s parents, of course, had been charmed by the lovely witch Ted had brought to their Muggle home. They were pleasant and welcoming and everything parents should be. But sometimes, while trying to understand the moon landing in ‘69, or trying to start a conversation with Ted’s Muggle sister like they had anything in common, she couldn’t help but feel that she didn’t belong. 

_ I also heard that they’re looking for you, _ Andromeda wrote. _ I don’t know what happened during that dinner, but regardless, stay safe. _

“Yes,” Andromeda answered finally, more sighing than speaking. “I suppose we are.” 

_ Your favorite cousin, _

_ Andy _

-oOoOo-

The police pulled up at the West Hampstead Metropolitan Police station; a large, four-story red and white brick building. They drove off the street and passed a blue gate into a small parking lot located behind the police station. Sirius had to wait for the car to stop and then for the doors to unlock before he went ahead with his Plan A, and he could see his window of opportunity closing as the blue gates closed behind them, before the car even stopped. Still, if he could hide behind one of the other cars long enough to transform, he could hide out in the parking lot as a stray dog until someone opened the blue gate again. He’d already committed to this plan; he wasn’t about to let a stupid gate stop him. 

_ Okay, Sirius, _ he told himself, steeling his resolve, _ you have a very small window of opportunity. _Johnson stopped the car in an area clearly marked out with white lines. Sirius stared straight ahead, but subtly got ready to stand up. Both men opened their cars doors and got out, but Johnson waited by his door while Harold made his way over to Sirius’ door. He unlocked it and held it open, indicating for Sirius to get out. Sirius stood reluctantly and shuffled awkwardly to the door. He got out slowly, standing just out of Harold’s arm reach. A brief glance up told Sirius that Officer Johnson was still waiting, arms folded, on the other side of the car. He looked back down and took two careful steps forward, away from Harold.

Then he ran.

“S–hey!” Harold’s initial reaction was shock, as Sirius had hoped.

He sprinted for the back of the parking lot, the part with the rows of cars. Unfortunately, Johnson reacted much faster than Harold had and immediately sprinted after him, hot on his heels. Sirius had hoped to make it behind the row of cars with enough time to transform and crawl beneath one of the cars, but even before he turned the corner he knew he wouldn’t be able to do so; Johnson was too close behind him. He stumbled a little when he did turn the corner–not being able to move his arms wrecked his balance–and pressed on even faster. 

Harold rounded the corner on the other side, trapping Sirius in between Johnson and himself. Sirius made a split-second reckless decision and jumped onto the hood of the nearest car. He ran up the car and quickly jumped onto the next car. Initially at either end of the block of cars, Harold and Johnson were closing in, albeit not as quickly as they could’ve since they refused to jump on the cars like Sirius and instead skirted around them. 

Sirius took a flying jump off the second car and landed on the asphalt slightly unevenly, pain shooting up his ankles at the impact. He ignored the pain and tried to jump onto the trunk of the next car, when three things went wrong all at once. First, the trunk was higher off the ground than the hood of the car, and as such Sirius miscalculated slightly. Second, he was still slightly off balance since he’d no sooner landed on the pavement before he tried to jump again. Third, although Sirius had forced himself to ignore the pain from the impact, his ankles weren’t quite capable of recuperating that fast, causing his jump to go slightly lower than intended. 

His shins hit the edge of the trunk, and Sirius landed on the trunk on his knees. Even this was not enough to make him stop running, and he struggled to his feet, arms once again hindering his speed. But his fall gave Harold and Johnson enough time to surround his car, one on either side. They made no move to grab him, but they seemed more than ready to.

Johnson’s face was hard and calculating. He spread his arms, as if waiting for Sirius to fall. For once, he said nothing, merely waited for Sirius to make his move. Sirius took a moment to catch his breath. His eyes darted around, searching for an escape route. He decided that his best bet was to jump for the next car, and hurled himself off the roof of the car. 

Before Sirius could even blink, Johnson was in front of him. The man raised his hands, which put them at the height of Sirius’ chest, and shoved hard. It was enough to stop his momentum, but it wasn’t enough to stop Sirius from crashing to the ground, taking Johnson down with him. His impact was softened by Johnson, who grunted in pain as his spine collided with the car behind him. Sirius immediately struggled back to his feet, but no sooner had he accomplished that when a strong pair of hands grabbed his forearms. The hands hauled him back from Johnson, who stood up and grabbed Sirius’ right arm with both hands. Harold transferred both his hands to Sirius’ left arm, subduing Sirius’ increasingly frantic attempts to break away. He kicked both of them, one on the shin and the other on the thigh, but even that failed to break their grips. 

“What the hell was that?” Johnson demanded above his right ear. He shook Sirius’ arm, as if he could shake the answers out of him. “The gate’s locked, Seagal. Where were you planning on going?”

Plan A had clearly failed. “I was going to turn into a dog and run away” was definitely not an acceptable answer, so Sirius snarled wordlessly and prepared himself for Plan B. Dave Barnaby. Reginald Barnaby. What school did he go to? An elitist boarding school up in Scotland. Lionel Patterson’s Academy for Boys. 

“Let’s just take him in and get it over with,” Harold said, and Johnson agreed. Harold took one hand off to lock the car door, but Sirius shook so much that eventually the man cursed and gave it up. Together, they frog-marched Sirius out of the parking lot and up a wide set of steps to a great blue and glass door. Why did Muggles make doors out of _ glass? _It made no sense. 

Johnson shouldered the door open, keeping both hands on Sirius, but he needn’t have bothered. Sirius had stopped resisting (for now), as he was mentally running through his false identity. He wondered if they would get him a glass of water. 

The first place Johnson and Harold took him to was a reception desk, not two meters from the entrance. There were two hallways to his left and right, but in front of Sirius was a large gathering area with the reception desk nestled on the side.

Another man, also middle-aged and half asleep, slouched behind it. He’d been in the middle of yawning widely when Sirius’ trio came in. The man sat up, fumbling for a pen, eyes taking in the scene.

“Ah–morning, Robert, Harold,” the man said, glancing at an analog clock which read 0518 in fluorescent red. Sirius wondered what time that represented. Probably 5:18 in the morning?

Johnson and Harold strode up to the desk. Sirius forced himself to smother down his natural instinct to glare at the man, and pasted on something that he hoped could pass as subdued instead. 

“Morning, Lee,” Harold said, and nodded at Sirius. “This kid was robbing a house down on Hocroft. And drinking underage.” He glanced at Johnson–Robert.

“Breaking and entry,” Johnson confirmed. “I found him sleeping in a public park at about 4:30 this morning, told him to get out. Caught him half an hour later trashing some lady’s kitchen.” He paused. “Also resisting arrest. Multiples times.”

“Do you need to call his parents, then?” Lee asked, and Sirius finally noticed a black telephone sitting at the end of Lee’s desk. Apparently they wouldn’t need to go out and find one of those red telephone booths.

Johnson sighed. “Seagal, we need to call your parents.” He waited expectantly, and boy did Sirius provide.

“My dad doesn’t have a telephone,” Sirius answered immediately.

“And your mum?” Harold prompted.

“She fell down the stairs and died. Years ago.”

“She _ what?” _Lee said, sounding a little shocked. 

Was that not something that could happen in the Muggle world? Did they all have safety measures on their staircases or something? “I wasn’t there,” Sirius evaded. “It was a long time ago. My dad is the one who saw it. I barely remember her.”

“What about other relatives?” Harold asked. “Any aunts or uncles? Grandparents?”

Yes. Most of them were good little Blacks, and the ones that weren’t Sirius either couldn’t reach or had no intention of reaching. “No.”

Johnson gave Lee a look over Sirius’ head, as if saying, _ see what we’re dealing with here? _Lee reached behind his desk and flicked a switch. A lightbulb turned on right over Sirius’ head, illuminating his dark curls. 

“Well, we need to contact your dad somehow,” Lee said pragmatically, reaching for his pen again. 

“Can’t. He’s in India on business.” Sirius said shortly.

“What were you sleeping in the park for?” Johnson pressed.

“I got lost.”

“Who was in the house then, besides you?” Harold asked. Sirius silently thanked himself for coming up with a backstory beforehand, or he wouldn’t have been able to keep up with this constant flow of questions. 

“My brother, Reginald,” Sirius said, keeping his voice flat.

“Is he eighteen or older?” Lee asked, pen scribbling down Sirius’ lies. 

Sirius scoffed. “He’s thirteen. Barely turned thirteen last spring.” That, at least, was true.

“And how old are you?” Lee asked.

Johnson looked at Sirius, _ seventeen _on the tip of his tongue, but doubt holding him back from answering for Sirius. Would a younger age make him more sympathetic? Sirius sighed. “Fifteen.”

“You mean to say,” Lee said slowly, “that your father left you and your thirteen year old brother alone in the house overnight?”

Sirius resisted the urge to squirm. “Yes,” he snapped, “is that a crime?”

“Yes,” Lee said, even slower, as if he thought Sirius was stupid and wouldn’t understand him otherwise. 

Sirius bit his tongue. He hadn’t known that. How would that affect his story? “We didn’t know that,” he said defensively. 

“What _ were _you doing in the park?” Johnson asked again.

“Must I answer all of your questions?” Sirius said snidely, half-heartedly trying to pull his arms free. He didn’t like the direction this interrogation was going. “Or is that a crime too?” He could practically _ hear _them share a look over his head.

“When will your father be back?” Lee asked.

Sirius bit back a ‘why do I have to tell you that’ and instead said; “Tonight.”

“And he left–when?” Harold questioned.

“What were you doing in the park?” Johnson asked again, before he could answer. 

“I told you, I got lost,” Sirius bit out. Maybe he was lying, but he was still frustrated that this man didn’t believe him. “I went to a friend’s house last night, then I got lost on the way back.”

“And you just decided to go to sleep in the park?” Johnson asked skeptically.

“Yes,” Sirius hissed, but Johnson was already talking again.

“Why did you rob that house then?” Johnson pushed, both figuratively and a little bit physically as well. Sirius jerked his shoulder, trying to get the man to take his sweaty fingers off Sirius’ dirty robe.

“I was hungry,” Sirius said weakly. The excuse sounded even flimsier than what he’d imagined in his head, but it was the truth. Not the entire truth: the entire truth included something dark and desperate as well as hungry lurking in the back of his mind, something that at best could be typical Gryffindor arrogance. 

“If you were at your friend’s house, why are you wearing pyjamas?” Harold asked suddenly. “And why are they covered in dirt?”

Sirius looked down, as if he needed confirmation that he was wearing pyjamas. Truth be told, he hadn’t considered what the Muggles would think of his clothes. He looked up, and realized the men expected an answer. “Because I slept,” Sirius said plainly, “in a park.”

They just stared at him like he’d stopped speaking English, and Sirius realized belatedly that it sounded like he’d intended to sleep in the park. He shrugged mentally. He didn’t have a good answer to that anyway. He wondered if now would be a good time to ask for a glass of water. 

“What happened to your hair?” Lee asked suddenly.

Sirius’ head snapped around, caught off guard, and he knew they all noticed. He’d forgotten about his ruined hair, too. That morning when he’d strode into the bakery, self-conscious but confident, felt so long ago. “My–I–” he fumbled for an acceptable response. “I cut it.”

“Poorly, it would seem,” Johnson said dryly. But Lee only narrowed his eyes slightly. 

Sirius flushed red. “Do you have a purpose, or are you just here to question my hairstyle choices?” 

“We need to contact your dad,” Lee said, not even remotely rising to the bait, “since you’re a minor.”

“But _ why_,” Sirius asked plaintively. “Is that a law too?”

“Yes,” Johnson said through gritted teeth. “And although showing respect to officers isn’t, it _ is _basic common courtesy.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Sirius sniped. But he finally let go of some of the tension built up in his shoulders, and he felt Harold and Johnson relax in response. They didn’t let go of his arms, but it was a start.

“What’s your address, then?” Lee asked, his pen poised over a notepad. 

“Can I have a glass of water?” Sirius asked instead, just for the hell of it, and because he _ was _thirsty.

“Yes, you may,” Lee said patiently, “regardless of whether you tell us your home address, but I would prefer your address beforehand.”

“Number Twelve Grimmauld Place,” Sirius replied with the casual, practiced air of someone reciting something they know by heart. His real heart beat faster at the mention of his real home, but the Muggles didn’t seem to care that much. “_Now _can I have water?”

Lee scribbled the address quickly and set his pen down. His eyes flickered above Sirius, to Johnson and Harold. “Sure,” he said, and reached below his desk. Sirius heard the sound of trickling water, and moments later Lee was back up again with a little paper cup filled with water. He set it on his desk, and looked at the two police officers again, who still showed no signs of letting go. 

Sirius twisted to look at them, trying to decipher the expression on their faces. “What? You’re right behind me. I’m not gonna run again.”

Johnson gave him another hard stare but fished out a key to unlock the handcuffs from his pocket. Seconds later, Sirius was very agreeably drinking the offered water, and continued being agreeable even when Johnson reached for the handcuffs again. The officer brought Sirius’ hands in front of him this time.

“Do you have a lawyer?” Lee asked Sirius, over the click of the lock.

Sirius stared at him. He hadn’t even considered a lawyer. “No.” 

“Do we need to get him a lawyer?” Harold asked Lee, over Sirius’ head. 

Lee sighed. “There’s that pro bono guy, likes taking on kids’ cases for charity. Call him?”

“Why would he be awake?” Johnson scoffed. “It’s five-thirty in the morning.”

“Trust me,” Lee snorted, “this one will be up.”

“I’ll call him,” Harold said. “You take him to a room?”

Johnson led a still agreeable Sirius down the hallway to the left while Harold started dialing a number on Lee’s desk telephone. 

“What room?” Sirius asked.

“Just a holding room,” Johnson answered, “until we can get a hold of a lawyer for you.” 

Johnson opened the second door they passed, and Sirius very agreeably walked himself inside. The fabled room was nothing more than a sad little box with a peculiar little table and two wooden chairs. 

“We’ll be back with your lawyer,” he said, and shut the door in Sirius’ face. 

Sirius blinked, and he heard a lock click. He shrugged and sat down in one of the chairs, noting again how his wand was very much within reach, but deciding against it once more. Instead, he spent an indeterminate amount of time testing the physical properties of plastic for himself (the Muggle Studies professor brought in samples, but that wasn’t quite the same as having a real plastic table in front of him, and knowing that it was going to be used as a regular table).

Finally, long after Sirius had exhausted his curiosity of plastic, the door opened again. Johnson stood alone in the doorway again, while Sirius now sat lounging in the same wooden chair, both feet up on the table. Boredom had relaxed him somewhat, and as such Johnson’s next words completely and utterly pulled the rug out from under him. 

“Good news,” Johnson said, almost smiling. “Mr. Black is here to see you.”

-OoOoO-

The cottage by the lake was not fit for a Black, but that hadn’t stopped Alphard from living there for the past decade. The little stone house, nestled by the side of one of Scotland’s many lakes, had only four rooms, one of which was a glass-domed observatory separate from the rest of the cottage. The rest of his family was under the impression that Alphard lived alone in an old Black manor in Cheshire, but they never dropped in unannounced, so it often went unused. They hadn’t visited him at all in the past five years. So Alphard found himself in a bit of a rush to make the Cheshire manor look lived in by Thursday morning, after five years of no use. He’d also worked himself up wondering what exactly his older sister needed to tell him so badly that she deigned to speak to him for the first time in five years. He’d seen her at Yule parties over the years with her two children, but they’d never exchanged more than a nod and an idle greeting. She’d cut him off five years ago when her eldest was sorted into Gryffindor and she had decided he was partially responsible. 

Alphard had spent a good portion of last night fixing up his manor, and then a good portion of this morning listening to his sister’s long yet somehow uninformative rant about her eldest son, along with several orders put in just because she could. Walburga had been insufferable even before she’d married the heir to the Black family. 

Now he Apparated back to his cottage, head reeling as he tried to process a stack of half-truths about his eldest nephew. Because he knew, from the moment that Walburga said her son had run away, that it wasn’t his fault. _ If he’s smart, he’s gone to a friend’s house, _Alphard thought, but then even if he had, Walburga made it very clear that he was to expect no aid from the rest of the family. She also made it clear that if Sirius was to show up, Alphard was to turn him away.

Alphard Black was under no illusions that he was a good man. He’d been Sorted into Slytherin at eleven years old, and he’d used his status as a Black to put others down and get what he wanted. He’d quietly bought his way into the profession he loved, after which he’d separated his finances from his family and stayed a recluse for the next decade. 

But he was well aware that he’d had the choice. His responsibilities to the family mounted to little more than not embarrassing the family. As a member of the Black family far enough removed that his sister had married another Black, the idea of him running the Black family one day was laughable. Which meant that Alphard defied his family quite often, but did so it was in secret. A private argument to the Hat about why it should put Alphard in Slytherin and not Ravenclaw. He stayed out of politics, stayed in the back with his star charts, and although he never went out of his way to insult Muggleborns like his fellow purebloods, he never hesitated to step on them to get what he wanted. He did have lovers–a Ravenclaw boy that he met in abandoned corridors, and a Hufflepuff girl who tucked silver pins in her black hair and smiled when nervous–but none that he was willing to defy his family for. Not the way his niece Andromeda had. 

Sirius, on the other hand, ever since he’d gone to Gryffindor five years ago, had walked a thin line between dishonoring the Blacks and loyalty to his family. His rulebreaking was well-known. His embarrassments were documented, gossiped about. And his little nephew and so many more responsibilities to his family, ones that he ducked and avoided and ran from. He dissociated himself from his family so hard that Alphard had to wonder if he knew that’s what he was doing. The more Walburga and her husband pulled, the more Sirius pushed in the opposite way. 

But Alphard had once been a Hogwarts student, a student who joined the astrology club and climbed the towers at midnight to hang out with like-minded students, and he remembered the side glances they’d given little Alphard Black. He remembered his naïve attempts to make friends (getting the house elves to bring them snacks), remembered jokes about Alphard the star, in the constellation Hydra, you know, Hydra, the _ snake, _remembered even more side glances, knowing that he was guilty of every suspicious glance cast in his direction–

And he wondered if Sirius knew what he was running to. 

Alphard had chosen the Blacks long ago, and he’d only continued to do so as the years went on. His work as an astrologer was enough to support him, and the Department of Mysteries didn’t exactly care about pureblood politics, but he still enjoyed a more-than-hefty inheritance from his family. He’d chosen not to defy his family, even when he knew rationally and logically that they were wrong; he became the Slytherin the rest of the wizarding world accused all Blacks of being. A persona Blacks often unconsciously followed or felt forced to follow, when it was all anyone else would ever see. 

The fireplace flickered merrily against the backdrop of the long winds howling over the Scottish highlands. Alphard sat down in his favorite (and only) armchair, summoned parchment, quill, and ink with a flick of his wand, and set it on the little table next to him.

The scion of House Black was not an issue his family would budge on. If Sirius did show up at Alphard’s door and Alphard took him in, his sister would blast him off the tree for sure. The family patriarch was a different matter, but no one had heard from him in years. By running away, Sirius had shamed his family so thoroughly that he warranted two disownments. Lord Black might not want to disown his grandson, but his daughter-in-law had already proclaimed said disownment so widely that it would only be worse to say otherwise. Lord Black, fellow recluse that he was, might not even know until next Yule. 

A lingering fear crept up on him every time he thought of being disowned. He’d often taken that as Slytherin instincts and done his best to stay out of trouble, but he knew it now to be fear. Alphard was forty-five years old. He only saw his parents and siblings once every year for Yule. Although he still sent letters for every birthday, he only bothered getting presents for his two nephews and two of his nieces. Alphard was quite content by himself in his cottage by his lake with his stars. He had no need for family money, nor any desire for it. Disownment would only be cutting off an obligation he didn’t want. 

His stubborn, reckless nephew, on the other hand? 

Alphard had gathered two facts from Walburga’s long speech, and they weren’t what she’d wanted him to get out of it. First, it was clear that Walburga had no idea where he was, which meant that Sirius couldn’t be at his friend’s house. Situation notwithstanding, you couldn’t just adopt someone’s son just because he no longer wanted to live with his parents. Second, Walburga expected Sirius to come back. Alphard couldn’t tell whether she would take him back, after she’d spread word of his disownment so far, but he’d rarely seen his sister so smug and confident as when she’d said _ he’ll come back. _

Nothing that made her that confident could be good for the friendships Sirius had managed to find, or his social standing in Gryffindor House. The Gryffindors might act above the junior politicking of the Slytherins, the ‘allies instead of friends’ attitude, but when it came down to it, teenagers anywhere were as petty as teenagers everywhere. Alphard would bet his star charts that this secret, this leverage, whatever it was Walburga had on her son, was the reason why he had finally run. Perhaps it was why he hadn’t gone to his friend’s house.

_ I hope to Merlin you know what you’re doing, Sirius, _ Alphard prayed. _ But I don’t think you do. _He also prayed that his sister was wrong, but she usually wasn’t wrong about these sorts of things. Alphard may have spent the majority of his life gazing up at the stars, but he wasn’t an idealist. He wanted to believe that Sirius would do what the rest of them never could, but he was very aware of how a lack of support could crush a person’s will. He was cynical enough to know what he, the recluse astrologer, was able to actually provide for his wayward nephew. 

Alphard Black might be a cynical, jaded recluse, but he hadn’t spent half his life looking to the stars for nothing. _ Sirius shone bright last night, _he thought, as he put quill to parchment, and signed over his entire Black fortune to one Sirius Orion Black.

-oOoOo-

If Sirius had taken just a moment to think about it, he would’ve realized that the notion that his father had deigned to speak to Muggles was absolutely ridiculous. Moreover, his father would never be up at five or six in the morning for any reason, and certainly not to talk to Muggles. His father never said much of anything until he had finished breakfast. And if his father was both capable and interested in finding him, there was no reason why he would wait until five am on a Thursday morning, when he could have easily done it yesterday. 

However, Sirius did not take a moment to think about it. Being alone in a Muggle police station did wonders to his mental distance from his family. Not once in the hour that he had spent alone in the room did he think that his parents would track him down here. He’d relaxed into a sense of false security, and the mere mention of his last name sent him into a near panic. That coupled with the intention (“here to see you” _ he knows I’m here he’s found me nowhere is safe _ –) and the tone (“good news” _ is he under an enchantment was this all part of a plan _–) made all rational thought flee from Sirius’ brain.

Instead, Sirius stumbled to his feet, blood draining from his face, and bolted like a cornered animal.

He actually caught Johnson by surprise, since the man had not expected Sirius to charge him like a rampaging bull, and that surprise let him push past Johnson and into the hallway. However, he didn’t get further than one step down the hallway to the left when Johnson put a stop to his flight. His hand shot out and grabbed the back of Sirius’ robe just before he got out of reach. Unfortunately for both of them, his robe was fastened with a sash that easily untied itself when push came to shove. Even more unfortunately for Sirius, Johnson didn’t let this stop him, and stuck his foot out, knowing Sirius couldn’t see it. Sirius stumbled over it, almost fell, giving Johnson just enough time to grab his shoulder, spin him around, and shove him face first against the nearest wall.

“Not,” Johnson said, panting, “again.”

Sirius didn’t bother responding, he just stomped on Johnson’s foot with his heel as hard as he could and shoved backwards, shoulder blades bunching together. Johnson had an arm on either side of Sirius and dug his heels in, refusing to budge. When he realized that the Muggle was both heavier and stronger than him, Sirius quickly changed tactics and crouched low, intending to duck out. But Johnson changed tactics just as quickly; he grabbed Sirius around the middle and hauled him backwards before he could take even a step away from him. 

A hiss escaped Sirius’ clenched teeth when Johnson squeezed a bruised rib, but the final blow came when he tried to twist at the same time that Johnson tried to put Sirius in a headlock, and ended up elbowing Sirius in the face instead. 

He caught Sirius on the wrong cheekbone. His head rolled back, and the old bruises and cuts throbbed and _ screamed _on his face until he blinked, and realized that he had screamed out loud, and was now on the floor. 

Johnson stood over him, looking vaguely apologetic, but this time Sirius was more preoccupied with the two figures who had rounded the corridor on his left while he was fighting with the policeman in the middle of the hallway. One was Harold again, still in his police uniform, and looking a little startled, but the other was not Orion Black, Pollux Black, Alphard Black, or even Arcturus Black. Instead, a graying man in a suit and tie stood holding Sirius’ robe in his right hand and a black case in his left. His paranoia acted up again—any number of potions or enchantments could’ve had that effect—but it died just as quickly. Why go through all the trouble to create a fake appearance just to use the same last name?

_ You’re not Dad, _Sirius thought dumbly. He stumbled to his feet slowly, ignoring the way Johnson tensed behind him.

“What happened here?” Harold demanded.

“He did a runner,” Johnson answered tiredly. 

All three men turned to look at Sirius, who avoided their gazes, flushing with embarrassment over his extreme reaction. 

“I panicked,” Sirius offered lamely. 

Johnson raised an eyebrow, but his gaze dropped to Sirius’ shirt, as did Harold’s. Sirius suddenly remembered that without his robe, they could see the black pants and white shirt he’d worn to the dinner. The white silk shirt that was very recognizably fancy in the wizarding world. The white shirt that was stained with grease and dirt, ripped by the shoulders, and also had a little bit of blood from when he’d stopped his lip from bleeding. He wasn’t sure what counted as pyjamas in the Muggle world, but he was pretty sure that wasn’t it. 

“Perhaps we could continue this discussion in there?” The third man said delicately, indicating the room Sirius had just fled. 

“Sure,” Sirius mumbled, and walked back into the room before anyone could tell him too. He threw himself into the seat he’d vacated and crossed his arms.

The older man filed in after him and took the seat across from him. He set his case down on the table and handed Sirius’ robe back to him. Sirius immediately bundled it in his lap, since he couldn’t put it on, and surreptitiously felt around for his wand. He relaxed when his fingers closed around the smooth wood of his wand.

“So,” the man said mildly, while opening his case. “I’m willing to bet about ten percent of what the officers said about you is true.”

Sirius blinked, entirely unsure if he’d just been insulted or not. The man set his file down and took in Sirius’ look of confusion. 

“I should introduce myself. I’m Marius Black, your lawyer.”

Sirius blinked again, this time in shock. _ Marius Black? _No way. No way in hell.

“I’ve been practicing for thirty years,” the lawyer continued, oblivious to Sirius’ inner monologue. “I don’t usually take pro bono cases, but I’ve always had a soft spot for hopeless causes.” He flashed a smile at Sirius, who stared back, unamused. “Sorry, that was rude. So! We should go over your alibi.”

“My alibi?” Sirius echoed. There was no way that this Marius Black was the same Marius Black who’d been blasted off the Black family tree decades ago for being a Squib, right? That Marius had been his mother’s _ uncle. _ How could he be _ here? _

“Yes,” Mr. Black–Marius–agreed pleasantly. “I don’t think we can tell the whole truth, now can we?”

Sirius narrowed his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m merely referring to the wand in your pocket,” Marius said. “Which I doubt you stole.”

Sirius gaped._ “What.” _

“It rolled out of your pocket when you dropped your robe,” Marius explained, and Sirius didn’t bother to point out that he hadn’t dropped it, Johnson had pulled it off him. 

Sirius gaped again. “Are you–a wizard?”

“Unfortunately, no,” Marius said, but there was no bitterness in his voice. “I’m a Squib, but I have contacts in both worlds, and I’m well-versed in the legislature of both. Now that we’ve established that,” he continued, opening the file he’d withdrawn from his case, “we need to contact your parents.”

“No,” Sirius said immediately. 

“No?” Marius raised an eyebrow questioningly. “I assumed the reason you said as much to the police was because your father has an owl rather than a telephone. It’s really not a big deal; we contact your dad, your dad contacts the Ministry, they do a few memory wipes, everyone goes home happy.”

Sirius didn’t budge. “We’re not contacting my parents.”

Marius leaned back in his chair and studied Sirius, making him feel like a bug under a lense. He was quiet for a long moment, and Sirius almost started fidgeting, but he was too concerned with outstaring his lawyer to move. 

“Does this have anything to do with that?” Marius asked abruptly, and pointed at the square-shaped scar on the back of Sirius’ hand.

Sirius pulled his hands back as if stung and leaned forward on his elbows instead. “No,” he snapped. 

“No?” Marius said again, raising the same damn eyebrow. “What’s it from then?”

“A table leg,” Sirius said shortly.

“A table?” Marius suggested sarcastically at the same time, and smiled serenely when Sirius shifted uncomfortably. “You got in a fight with a table?”

Sirius barely resisted snarling at him. 

“What about that one?” Marius flicked a finger at Sirius’ cheek, the one that still throbbed where Johnson’s elbow had smashed it. 

“I got in a fight,” Sirius bit out. “With some boys from my neighborhood.”

“Where are the cuts from, then?” Marius asked, and Sirius blinked. He’d forgotten the marks left on his cheek, along with the bruises. 

“A cutting curse,” Sirius answered, heart pounding.

“Really?” Marius feigned surprise and Sirius wanted to punch him _ so bad. _“And the ones on your shoulders–a more potent cutting curse, perhaps?”

This time Sirius did snarl at him, leaping out of his chair and slamming his hands on the table in order to do so. “I got,” he spat, “in a fight.”

“With whom?” Marius asked quietly.

Sirius said nothing; he merely glared at the lawyer, trembling with rage. His robe fell unnoticed to the ground. It was just like the man in the restaurant bathroom, only so much worse. He relied on Marius–_ needed _ Marius, and still couldn’t fake politeness. Marius knew he was a wizard, and still just sat there making assumptions and acting like he knew Sirius. This Marius Black might be his Squib granduncle, and the sheer hypocrisy of _ him _ condescending to Sirius made him want to cry out of frustration. (The sheer irony of _ him _ being the one to find Sirius made him want to cry out of relief and humiliation). 

“So,” Marius said, unphased by Sirius’ behavior, “you dressed for dinner, and some boys from your neighborhood came into your house to have your fight, or you took your dinner out to them, evidenced by the soup spilled down your shirt.”

He leaned forward, fingers laced together, and looked up at Sirius’ murderous face. “I’m not trying to pry,” he said gently. “I just wanted to point out the holes in your story. It would also be helpful if I knew what was going on, so as to better advise you. If you need to get away from your parents–”

_ “Don’t bring my parents into this–” _

“–I understand–trust me, I understand–but you need to give me something. All I have now is a minor charged with several crimes who has consistently shown a lack of respect to authority figures–myself included–and tried to run three times already.” 

Marius leaned back then, trying to appear inoffensive. He didn’t succeed. “And I couldn’t help but notice a couple of details in the police report about you.” He waved a hand at said police report, where lines of impossibly neat handwriting marched across an immaculate white sheet of paper. “Your mother fell down the stairs and died, and only your father was there to see it? Your father left you and your thirteen-year-old brother alone overnight? You broke into a house to steal _ food? _You slept on a public park bench and recoiled whenever Johnson offered a hand but argued with him from the get go, and you look like you got in a fight with the dinner table and lost–”

Sirius’ vision almost went white with rage. Because how _ dare _ he. He, of all people, should know better. “What do you want to hear?” Sirius spat. “That my father beat me and my brother every other night?” They’d never touched Reggie; they didn’t need to. Even if Reg hadn’t gone out his way not to upset their parents, Sirius didn’t know what _ he _ would’ve done if they’d ever dared to touch his little brother. (Act out more. Get their attention. Wasn’t that what he’d been doing unconsciously for years, to preemptively prevent that from happening?) 

“That he pushed my mother down the stairs?” Sirius continued aggressively. “Merlin,” he said bitterly, “I wish she _ would _ just fall down the stairs. I really do. But it’s _ not true _.” 

Because he could count on one hand the number of times he’d ended up in the cellar. Because there was a reason his parents were insane and terrible and it had nothing to do with them looking for excuses, or Sirius being too weak to stop them. (Because he was so tired of fighting them and losing, but that dinner was the _ last _ time, it _ had _to be). 

“I left because I disagreed with them on principle,” Sirius finished angrily. “Because I hate them and everything they stand for.” 

He left because they didn’t just want him to be like them, they _ thought he already was, _ and Sirius left because they were wrong and he would never give them a chance to be right, he’d never tried to _ murder _ anyone, and just because they thought that didn’t change the fact that they were wrong, wrong, _ wrong, _and now that he was gone they’d better damn well know it.

Sirius took a shuddering, calming breath, and sat back down. _ Get yourself under control, Sirius, _ he told himself firmly. _ Granduncle or not, he’s here to help you. Do not turn away help again. _ Sirius picked up his robe from the floor and slung it half over his shoulder since he couldn’t put it on. Then, since he couldn’t cross his arms, and was still far too angry to feign nonchalance, he instead chose a posture his parents would have approved of: back erect, hands folded calmly in his lap, gray eyes staring dead at the man across the table. _ I have this under control, _Sirius assured himself.

And then Marius opened his mouth. “You ran away from home because you had a disagreement with your parents’ beliefs?” He said skeptically, and then shook his head. “Look, I’m not saying that you have to go back, but you should at least try to talk–”

Sirius snapped faster than a Black’s sanity. “No I so fucking don’t!” Sirius shouted. He wasn’t even aware that he’d leapt to his feet again, chair falling backwards under the force of his fury. “You–you fucking _ hypocrite! _ I bet you–did you run away from home or were you just kicked out the door at eleven when they realized you were a Squib? I bet your parents called you a disgrace to your ancestors then,” Sirius spat viciously. “Parenthood didn’t mean jack shit when it got in the way of their _ beliefs.” _

He drew himself up, trying to tower over Marius, who was still calmly sitting in the seat across from him. He knew then he should sit down and not give himself away, but a too big part of him just wanted to make Marius feel even a fraction of what he was feeling. So Sirius looked him in the eyes and stuck back the only way he knew how. He knew that Marius hadn’t seen his family since he was eleven, and now likely had a family of his own. But if there was someone on this Earth that could just get over the Blacks, it was not going to be the lawyer Black who was tossed out the door for being a Squib and made up for it by taking difficult children as charity cases.

“They’d already married your brother off when he was thirteen–too young be left _ alone _ in the house _ overnight _ –when they abandoned you,” he spat. Finally, Marius blinked. Sirius sucked in a breath, and then finished all in a rush. “Don’t tell _ me _ that beliefs won’t get you fucking _ killed!” _

He finally stopped, panting heavily like he’d just run a race, and saw that his words had hit. 

“I’m sorry,” Marius Black said finally, his face frozen in a mask of polite indifference that Sirius could tell was close to cracking, “do I know you?”

“Yeah,” Sirius said viciously, far too gone to care about anything but dragging this man into the abyss with him. “You do. I’m not–fucking _ Seagal Barnaby. _I’m Sirius Black.”

Sirius watched with vicious pleasure as utter shock broke through Marius’ poker face. He didn’t regret his words as the man stood, mimicking Sirius, matching gray eyes looking at Sirius in a new light, trying to see the familial resemblance. Marius had slicked his salt-and-pepper hair back, but Sirius was willing to be that it had once been curly; a head full of wild black curls to match a narrow face and piercing gray eyes. 

Marius packed up his case with trembling fingers, and Sirius didn’t regret it. Even as he watched, baffled, as Marius tucked his chair back under the table, he didn’t regret it. Marius turned away from Sirius, strode across the room in two quick steps, and knocked on the door smartly. _ Merlin, _ Sirius realized, _ he’s leaving. _The door opened, and still Marius’ fingers trembled on his briefcase. But Sirius still didn’t regret it, didn’t believe it, until Marius actually walked out and Johnson shut the door in Sirius’ face again.

Sirius sat down again, dazed. He looked down on the handcuffs on his wrists, and then at the door his granduncle had just passed through. _ Fuck, _ Sirius thought finally, quietly. His chin trembled. Sirius’ pride fought, unwilling to give in, for another ten seconds. _ They were right about you. He left. He actually left you. _

Finally, alone once again in a little room in the back of West Hampton’s police station, Sirius Black buried his head in his arms and cried. 

-OoOoO-

Marius Nigellus Black was having an exceptionally terrible day. As a consequence of both his occupation and his fifty-seven years of age, he’d had his fair share of bad days. While this one didn’t quite take the cake, it was certainly on the list. It hadn’t been the first day he’d left the house obscenely early to take a case. It wasn’t even nearly the most difficult charity case he’d taken–they tended to be unwinnable. This case, therefore, while unusual, was not unfamiliar to Marius.

No, what made this day terrible was one Sirius Black. 

Marius wouldn’t lie and say that he’d never thought of his family since they’d abandoned him, but he could say with honesty that he hadn’t thought about them in years. His mother had been the one to ensure, after that fateful morning when his Hogwarts letter never came, that he didn’t starve to death on the streets when his father inevitably kicked him out of the house. She’d stooped low enough to talk to Muggles that day, but Marius had never talked to her since. In the end, his younger sister Dorea was the one to reach out after she’d graduated Hogwarts. She’d been the one to reintroduce Marius to the magical world; she’d been the reason why Marius met his future wife, a halfblood witch named Rivika Burton. Ironically, if he’d been a wizard, his marriage wouldn’t have been bad enough to get him disowned, but she might have never married him if he’d been one of _ those _Blacks. 

The common trend among his pro bono cases was painfully obvious to anyone who knew Marius’ history, and Marius wasn’t one to deny it. He could say that he wanted to make the world a little better until he was blue in the face, but the times he chose to use his skills for charity were very specific. Oftentimes even personal, which made his so-called charity work a little selfish. Marius was a pragmatist at heart; he wouldn’t pretend that being disowned by his family wasn’t the reason he had a soft spot for kids like Sirius. 

But his eldest was almost thirty and already had two kids of her own, and his youngest child had graduated Hogwarts a decade ago. Marius might not have been anyone’s son since he was eleven years old, but he rather thought he and Rivika had done a good job with their two children. His daughter was making a name for herself in her chosen field of historic runes; a name that didn’t include the Blacks. They were all the family Marius needed; a family he’d chosen, and a family he’d do anything to protect. He had never once resented his children for having magic that he could never have. He would certainly never disown one of his children for being anywhere on the scale from magical to non magical. Rivika’s own parents had passed away a few years ago, and she was an only child. The only extended family his children still had was Marius’ own sister, Dorea. He was far from lacking in family. 

Yet Marius had stopped and wondered when in his fifth year, his son mentioned a little first-year Slytherin girl named Bellatrix Black. He hadn’t hidden from his children why they would never meet their paternal grandparents, but they’d never pried either. They knew as much as they cared to know. They carried their mother’s last name of Burton with pride, and Marius couldn’t imagine a better last name for his children, and yet–

And yet. Marius and Rivika had named their children Carina, after the constellation, and Rigel, after the star. Delia Burton–Rivika’s Muggle parent–had been an astronomer. The Blacks had never had a monopoly on the stars, after all. They only liked to believe they did. But Marius knew the Black habit of naming their children after stars, for all that he’d been excluded from that tradition. He’d known exactly what he was doing when they’d put _ Carina Delia Burton _on her birth certificate. 

Carina and Rigel Burton were hundreds of miles away. Neither had any plans to return anytime soon; both were adults with paychecks and bills, friends and coworkers. 

Sirius Black was alone in London. 

Marius Black ate lunch with his wife in their London apartment at 11:30 am and felt guilt and regret stir in his stomach, along with a hot cup of tea that had tasted just a tad less sweet this morning. 

“I think,” he said, “that I should go back.” 

Across their little dining table, Rivika paused with a spoonful of soup halfway to her mouth. 

Marius doubted any other lawyer had offered up their services in the hours between Marius’ own rude departure and now. But even if Sirius had magically found representation, Marius still wanted to go back and explain himself. He didn’t know what it was that had made his nephew so guarded and defensive, which he could and would blame for some of his incorrect assumptions. He would in turn forgive Sirius for his blind attacks at Marius. They hadn’t landed, after all–no one had ever called Marius a “disgrace to his ancestors” and he was not interested in learning what sort of melodramatic person would–and Marius recognized that Sirius had in that moment just been an angry kid lashing out. 

Marius had also been seven when his niece Walburga was born, and while his older brother Pollux had always been his favorite sibling before Marius lost his family, his then-seventeen-year-old brother hadn’t been home that day, and Marius hadn’t really thought of him or his loud-mouthed niece since. As such, he hadn’t quite connected the dots and realized just how young Pollux had been when their parents married him off to Irma Crabbe, and thus Sirius’ accusation had gone largely unregistered. 

But Sirius had been right when he’d called Marius a hypocrite. Because while Marius did know just how easily beliefs could get you killed in both the magical and mundane world, he was intimately, personally aware of just how quickly Black beliefs could kill. How casually their hatred and inbred scorn could devour its own children. 

Aside from quiet afternoon teas with Dorea, Mairus hadn’t been forced to confront his birth family in decades. That, he felt, excused part of his reaction. It did not, however, excuse the way he’d simply fled the room. The same way an eleven year old boy had once fled the room when confronted with his first Muggle; an eleven year old boy who had just begun to realize that he was the very thing his family treated as less than human. 

He was a far cry from being that eleven-year-old boy. Marius could fix this. He _ would _fix this. He would turn this terrible day around, and he would change it for his nephew too. 

Rivika quirked an eyebrow at her husband’s pronouncement. Marius had given up on eating lunch–lunch that he doubted Sirius would be provided. “You should,” she agreed, and they left it at that. 

He wouldn’t.

-oOoOo-

No one came for Sirius for what felt like hours.

By the time he finished crying, he’d completely lost track of time. The single lightbulb quietly flickered on, and the door stayed locked. Sirius slowly pulled himself out of his fetal position and got out of his chair. He slid onto the table and sat down again, legs dangling over the side. He rubbed residual wetness out of his eyes with the back of his hands and stared at the door. 

Mistakes. He had made so many mistakes.

Sirius placed his still-trembling hands flat on the table in an effort to quiet them. They left sweat traces on the plastic, but didn’t stop trembling.

It was only then, when Sirius was completely alone, exhausted, worn-out, friendless, and desperate, that he finally forced himself to admit his mistakes. 

Where did he even start?

The morning after he ran away. He shouldn’t have stolen from the bakery, shouldn’t have lost his temper on Caitlyn and that drunk man. What if the Muggle police connected that to him? Another crime to his name couldn’t possibly help his case. Sirius should’ve asked that man in the restaurant bathroom for help. He’d been willing to offer Sirius money, despite not knowing him. Perhaps he would’ve been willing to show Sirius how to use a telephone. Sirius had been too embarrassed to call Remus with that Muggle man standing nearby, but now if he had the chance he would kill his pride and make the call. He shouldn’t have wasted all his money on his pride. He shouldn’t have broken into someone’s house. Once he had, he shouldn’t have gotten distracted by the beer, shouldn’t have let himself get carried away with the allure of danger and the drama of getting away with doing something illegal. He should’ve ran when he had the chance instead of insulting the officers. He should’ve come up with a better backstory. He shouldn’t have yelled at Marius. The man was only trying to help. Merlin, he could’ve even told him the truth. Marius would’ve understood. 

Marius wasn’t coming back. Regulus wasn’t going to come and offer a wand and a way out. His parents were probably busy putting the wards back up–hopefully they got the standard anti-Muggle wards back up before the Muggles that Sirius had given his address to could find it. His friends didn’t know where he was. They had no idea something was wrong, that Sirius wasn’t suffering through another summer of boredom with his family. Nobody was coming back. No one was going to save Sirius Black.

Sirius was alone, and he had no one to blame but himself. And now he was desperate, because he had no plan for getting out of the police station, not after Plan A and Plan B had fallen through. The longer he stayed here, the closer they came to figuring out the truth, and he couldn’t let that happen. He had so little hope left, and yet he fixed his gaze on the door with the grim determination of someone who still had everything left to lose. He still had Hogwarts. He still had his friends and his magic. Sirius would be damned before he let that be ripped from him too in his escape.

His lips quirked in a ghastly smile. _ And so let me be damned. _Sirius Black set his shoulders and felt his downfall draw nearer.

He put his plan (if one could call it that) into motion when the door was finally opened again. Luckily, the person to open the door was an officer Sirius didn’t recognize. Johnson or Harold would have been more suspicious of him. This man–a heavyset, bearded man who appeared to be in his thirties–barely spared Sirius a glance as he opened the door. Sirius waited until the man took his hand off the door and then sprung into action.

Sirius pulled his knees up to his chest, placed his feet on the edge of the table, and pushed off. Since the table was welded into the floor, his momentum carried him up and out. The man’s eyes widened in shock, and he raised his arms to fend off the boy flying at him like a deranged monkey. But Sirius was faster, and had the chain of his handcuffs on the back of the man’s neck before he could stop him. He stumbled, pushing ineffectively at Sirius’ chest. Sirius took advantage of that stumble and preemptively stopped the cop from calling out for help by ramming his feet into the man’s stomach. The man’s eyes widened again as the blow left him winded and gasping for air.

Finally, Sirius threw all of his weight backwards, pulling himself and the police officer down with him. The force pulled the man off his feet, and Sirius twisted, swinging himself around the man’s body. He slammed the officer into the table. His forehead rammed into the table edge with an ugly crack, and the man slumped. 

Sirius stood, breathing heavily, almost stunned at what he had just done. But it was too late to back down now. The man groaned softly when Sirius turned him over, and his trembling fingers threatened to drop him. _ Get a grip, _ Sirius told himself coldly. Now was not the time for doubts. He reminded himself of the open door behind him and grimly pushed on.

He hauled the man up by his shoulders and pushed him until he was leaning against a table leg. Then he curled his right hand into a fist and punched the man in the nose. His face snapped to the side, and flinched when Sirius punched it a second time. Punching with hands bound together was weird, but not difficult. His nose started bleeding the second time around, and Sirius unclenched his fist. He pressed two fingers to the man’s upper lip, letting the blood flow over his fingers. 

With a steady hand, Sirius laid his two fingers on the clean floor and dragged them in a quick line. The thin spread of blood smeared on the ground dried to a crusty brown color. He brought his fingers up to the man’s face, letting the thick rivulets of blood still running from the man’s nose dribble onto his fingertips. It wasn’t close to the most disgusting thing he’d ever done, but it was one of the most ethically questionable. Still, he didn’t let himself pause. He returned to his tentative rune sketch on the floor. 

Uruz was a common enough rune from the Elder Futhark script; a mediocre rune from a mediocre rune script. Sirius had chosen Elder Futhark because it was, as the oldest Germanic script, closer to his ancestry than Cyrillic script or Egyptian hieroglyphs. And if there was one thing blood runes cared about, Sirius knew, thinking of the first blood rune he’d ever drawn on another cold floor, desperate to bring down the Black wards, it was ancestry. The difference between this Uruz and the ones he’d drawn under his tutor’s watchful eye was that this one was, undeniably, Dark magic.

People often didn’t understand the true nature of Dark magic. They knew it was bad, and they knew the general practices categorized as Dark magic by the Ministry, but people rarely took the time to understand why. Sirius, due to witnessing it too many times and due to lessons instilled in him from books Hogwarts would never hold, did.

Sirius sketched his diagonal at what he could only hope was approximately the right angle and finally finished his Uruz with the third and final line, as parallel as he could make it with the first line. He wiped his hand briefly on his shirt and then turned to his own face. Sirius dug his jagged, dirty nails into his lip viciously, feeling the pressure mount with every second that ticked by. His lip was more than willing to yield to him for the third time in as many days, especially since Sirius, in his growing haze of desperation, barely registered the head-throbbing pain. 

Dark magic was all about intention. A powerful Cutting Curse to the throat could kill a person just as surely as a Killing Curse could. But Cutting Curses were more likely to be used for cutting cloth, whereas an _ avada kedavra _could only be used to kill, be it livestock or human beings. Sirius had attacked that man without provocation, fully intending to take something of his. Fully prepared to get his hands on that man’s blood, however unwilling. Uruz was a rune of physical power, and it recognized that Sirius had overpowered the other man to draw the rune. Moreover, as a police officer, the man was part of an organization now magically recognized as Sirius’ enemies. Sirius had no idea how many his magic would be able to target. He could only hope that it was enough.

But his act of violence was what made this blood rune Dark: to draw it with the blood of an unwilling victim, he had to have done so with the intention to harm, just to increase his own power. 

He finished up his second rune, an Elder Futhark rune for protection, and bound the two runes together. His blood was the one with magic; he had to get it from somewhere if he wasn’t going to use his wand. He inhaled slowly, trying to calm his racing heart, and then reached for the pockets of the unconscious officer. 

Sirius found a small key in the upper right pocket of the man’s uniform and with minimal contortions managed to fit it in the keyhole of his left handcuff. Seconds later, the handcuffs clattered to the ground.

“Hey!” Someone shouted from down the hall. “What’s taking so long?”

Sirius startled and dropped the key, panic threatening to overtake him. By his count, forty-five seconds had passed since the officer had first opened the door. He’d been too slow. They were suspicious now, and any moment now they were going to come and lock him back in this room all alone–

_ No, _ he told himself firmly. _ You’ve sacrificed too much to not escape now. _He forced himself to take one more deep, calming breath. 

Sirius activated his runes. Immediately, a low but resounding _ boom _echoed through the building. The muffled explosion came from all around him, and he almost smiled in satisfaction. But he had no time to smile. Sirius grabbed his robe, which was still lying on the floor where he’d left it. He checked briefly to make sure that his wand was still there, and then used it to scuff his runes. They weren’t wards; they weren’t meant to last or be used more than once. 

He looked back briefly at the damage he’d caused: the Muggle officer slumped against a table leg, nose still bleeding slowly, the scuffed bloodstains on the floor, and the handcuffs he’d dropped on the bloodstains. He would’ve apologized to the man, but he had no time for sentiment, and even less for mistakes. Sirius turned and walked out of the room.

One Muggle officer stood in the hallway, and he was doubled over, groaning. Muggles were especially defenseless when it came to magical attacks, something Sirius had taken full advantage of. He didn’t know how big the range had been, or how long the effects would last, so Sirius immediately start running the way he’d came, down the corridor to his right and back into the atrium. 

He skidded to a stop by the receptionist’s desk, momentarily surprised by the damage he’d caused. Lee was still sitting behind the desk, but he was now holding his head in his hands and groaning. Another person was on the floor, swearing softly. It seemed that she had spilled her entire cup of hot coffee because of Sirius, and promptly slipped in the puddle of coffee. She rolled away from the spill, her blue uniform taking on a dark brown stain. Several more officers had their hands on their knees and were emitting various phrases of shock, anger or pain. 

On the far right of the room, Officer Johnson leaned against a table, trying to steady himself. He looked up, and his hawk-like gaze immediately landed on Sirius, who was watching the scene with no little shock. 

_ “You,” _Johnson said through gritted teeth. He tried to take a step forward, but his knees threatened to buckle. Sirius watched as Johnson’s hands clenched into fists, pressing his knuckles into the table.

Sirius was used to being judged. It didn’t usually feel like this. On a better day, he might have said; “Me,” with the perfect amount of snark and self-confidence, or perhaps something else witty and/or insulting. 

Today, Sirius could only stumble backwards as Johnson’s hooded eyes burned into him. He turned around to push the door open, but he could still feel Johnson’s glare burning into the back of his neck. The Uruz rune burned in the back of his head too, as did the image of the Muggle man, bloody and unconscious, by Sirius’ hands. 

What made Dark magic so dangerous was not the requirement of harm, but allure of its power. If Sirius could’ve used Light runes to break out of the police station, he would have. But none of them provided the power of that Uruz rune. Countless members of his family had fallen to its toxic promise. Dark magic was dangerous because of what it did to the people who used it. Sirius knew the signs of Dark magic use–Merlin, his family had practically created the list–and he knew how these Muggles would describe him once he left. He could see it in Johnson’s eyes. 

Violent. Aggressive. That’s how they would describe him, once they inevitably recovered and sent someone to find the criminal delinquent that had escaped the police station. Erratic. Dangerous. Mad. 

_ (A true scion of his family’s noble values–) _

So Sirius had nothing to say to Johnson, no excuse to offer, no apology that could possibly be sufficient or meaningful in any way. He turned his back on the Muggle police, pushed the doors open, and fled. 

No one followed. 

-OoOoO-

“What do you mean he’s not here?” Marius snapped. “Where did he _ go? _ How did _ none of you _stop him?”

The look that the police officers exchanged was equal parts guilty and embarrassed. 

“I had a stomach ache,” one of them mumbled.

“I was…I spilled coffee,” another protested weakly.

Marius narrowed his eyes. “Ex_cuse _me?” 

None of them dared to meet his eyes. Somehow they didn’t think “I suddenly really, really needed to use the loo” would restore their pride. Even if it was true. 

Marius resisted the urge to dig the heels of his palms into his eyes. So, his wayward cousin had not only broken out of the police station, he’d used some magic–presumably runes–to give every police in the station a stomach ache at the same time, and then just waltzed right out of the station right in front of their faces.

“_You _walked out too,” one muttered rebelliously.

Marius did not manage to resist the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, even though the officer had a point. Marius _ had _ just left without a word of explanation. That didn’t change the fact that he’d been under no obligation to take the case in the first place. “I am not,” he said calmly, “a police officer. You’re telling me this kid escaped a police station filled with _ police? _What are you–dog catchers?”

How was he supposed to provide any sort of aid for his rebellious nephew _ now? _ Why couldn’t the kid just postpone his little escape until _ after _ Marius got back? Honestly, the things his family got up to. The kid had gotten close to breaking the Statue of Secrecy as well, but despite using magic on every single police officer, he’d covered his tracks simply by embarrassing them enough that they would never speak of what had transpired today. And he did all of this without using his wand. _ The Blacks ought to be proud, _Marius thought wryly. As a lawyer, Marius should be horrified, but as Sirius’ stand-in family, he couldn’t help but feel a little proud of the kid. 

_Good luck, Sirius, _ Marius thought as he turned to go. _ I hope you know what you're doing. _

-oOoOo-

Sirius ran.

The frightened animal from earlier had been replaced with a hunted one, and the hunted animal darted through the streets of London, avoiding people like anyone would be looking for a large black dog. At least the police wouldn’t be, which was what really mattered, because Sirius was now in trouble with the police. He ran back the way he’d come, and was no closer to figuring out whether he was running to or from No. 12 Grimmauld Place. 

It was easy enough to banish all dangerous thoughts from his mind while he was in his Animagus form and running from the police. Sirius was tempted to just stay that way. Unfortunately, the sun was setting in behind him, and he was getting closer and closer to getting hit by one of those Muggle automobiles. Already several had passed directly above him while the drivers yelled and cursed at him. Not eating all day–except for one giant meal at 5 am–clearly did no favors for his stamina. Sirius was tempted to ignore that too, even as he grew dizzier and stumbled around corners. 

But in the end, Sirius betrayed himself when he turned left down an alley and ran face-first into a dumpster he hadn’t seen. He sat on his two back legs, and transformed back into a human. Now taller than the trash can, Sirius braced his hands on the edge and bowed his head.

_ It was necessary. _ The one thought demanded to be said, as though if Sirius said it enough it would become true. _ I had to do it. I had to. _ The words couldn’t even convince him. But he’d needed to break free, hadn’t he? He couldn't just let the police know who he was. If they knew, his parents would find out, and then it would be all over for Sirius. He’d tried to think of any Light rune to help him–a way that he could just give himself a bloody nose to break out of the station–but he came up blank. And anyway, it was only a bloody nose. _ You can still remember the way his eyes glazed when you slammed his head into the table edge. _ It wasn’t as if Sirius had gone looking for Dark magic, he’d only applied a widely known principle to a widely known rune. It was only one rune. _ Drawn in someone else’s blood. _ Blood runes weren’t Dark magic. _ But they were the line and you trampled right over it how long until you can’t go back how long until you end up just like them– _

Sirius slid down, back pressed against the dumpster. He kept his head between his knees and tried to reel in his breathing. His sweat soaked robes clung to his skin, but he couldn’t be bothered to make himself more comfortable. This place was disgusting, anyway. _ He _was disgusting. His stomach rumbled, but Sirius was not about to go make the same mistake he’d made yesterday morning. Or this morning, technically. Sirius might throw himself from mistake to mistake, but at least he didn’t make the same mistake twice. 

No, he was done making mistakes. He was done paying the price for his own dumb screw-ups, whether it was Remus or blood runes in a meeting room. He just wanted this whole mess to be over. He wanted to show up at the Potters’ doorstep and get whisked away to spend the remaining August days playing Quidditch with James on his family’s estate, until these humiliating nights in London were but a distant memory. _ At least, _ Sirius told himself, squeezing his eyes shut, _ it can’t get worse than this. _

Which is exactly when it did. 

The owl that swooped down into Sirius’ alley was a large, brown and white bird with two adorable ears and a pair of great big yellow eyes, as round as marbles. Owls, notoriously silent predators, don’t make a sound when in flight, and since Sirius’ face was buried between his knees, he didn’t notice the owl until it landed softly in front of him. He looked up and immediately recognized Regulus’ owl, a great horned owl named Magna by their parents. Magna held one claw up and presented Sirius with two letters.

Sirius almost didn’t take the letters. Magna titled her feathered head expectantly, patiently waiting for Sirius to take her package. But all he could do was stare at the letters and wonder what his brother could possibly have to say to him that Sirius wanted to hear. Nothing. That was the correct answer, right? He’d already sworn off his family. There was nothing they could say to make him regret his actions, or hurt him more than they already had. 

He should’ve ripped up the letters right then and there. But Sirius had already made a habit of jumping from mistake to mistake, and the letters were no exception. In the end, he couldn’t have said why he opened the letters. Maybe, after days wandering around the Muggle world, he wanted a connection to his world, even if it was from his parents. Maybe it was his own damnable curiosity. Maybe he was hoping for something resembling regret. Maybe he was just too tired, too stupid to do anything but unthinkingly seal his own fall.

Sirius took the letters from Magna’s outstretched claw and waited until the owl flew off. He knew it was impossible for mail owls to be tracked or to be used to spy on people, but that didn’t stop his irrational paranoia. Slowly, he uncurled from his hunched position on the ground and sat down properly on the ground, legs splayed out in front of him.

He turned to the first letter; a regular-sized cream-white envelope sealed with the black and silver crest of the Black family. Sirius ripped the seal open carelessly and tossed the useless piece of wax to the side; another bit of trash for the alley. 

_ Dear brother, _ Sirius read, and immediately knew that this letter was from his parents, even though he recognized his brother’s neat calligraphy. In no real letter would Regulus begin a letter to him with “Dear brother.” He would probably use “Sirius” or just “Siri”, but not “dear” and not _ brother. _He could almost picture Orion and Walburga Black stooping over the hunched but prim shoulders of their youngest son. Knowing this, Sirius skimmed the rest of the letter, feeling their influence in every word. Regulus, so desperate to please them, used a level of formality he’d never used in any letter he’d ever written to Sirius. Although to be fair, it had been years since Regulus had written Sirius a letter. 

The letter itself was almost a let down. His parents, according to Regulus, would magnanimously grant him a pardon for his terrible crimes if only he returned now and saved his family from further embarrassment. He shook his head in disgust, entirely unsurprised at how his parents had perceived his actions from that dinner. Regulus went on to claim that Mother and Father were worried about him, which Sirius knew to be a lie, and then to admonish him for leaving the ‘superior care of the Blacks’. That one almost made Sirius laugh. Of course Regulus couldn’t just say _ family. _That would be far too plebeian for Regulus Black. 

Sirius tossed the first letter aside, slightly more confident now that the letter had all but confirmed that running away had been the right choice. He opened the second letter, expecting a rant from his mother or a harsh rebuke from his father that he could happily rip to shreds. _ Siri, _ it said, and Sirius frowned, wondering why Regulus felt it necessary to send him another letter. Hadn’t they said all that needed to be said that night? Why was a private letter needed? _ There’s something you need to know, _Regulus wrote, and foolishly, Sirius read, unaware of the letter’s contents, of the secret it was hiding. 

Sirius read the letter. And then Sirius shattered. 

One minute after opening the envelope, Sirius leaned over and threw up on the ground. His mouth tasted like beer and rotten apples. He smelled a dozen organic compounds decomposing somewhere in the dumpster, which didn’t help. He was shaking so bad it was all he could do to remain sitting, back pressed against the metal trash bin. He licked his lips, unwilling to swallow down the bile that had risen, but he had no other choice. Despite several deep, shuddering breaths, he failed to calm down. 

Sirius picked up the second letter from where he’d dropped it and read it again. The horror did not lessen. _ He’s lying, _Sirius thought, but Regulus had no reason to lie. The first letter was clearly the one their parents had wanted him to send; the second was sent of Regulus’ own volition. And despite the bad blood between them, Regulus was still Sirius’ little brother. He wouldn’t lie about this. Regulus had helped him that night, hadn’t he? Why would he do this now? Just to give their parents the last word?

Everything had been fine after the first letter. Why couldn’t have just stopped there, before he was retching the contents of his stomach that he couldn’t afford to lose? Before he was frantically choking out denials, reasons why it couldn’t possibly be true. That his family hadn’t managed to break him yet again. That by the time he’d finally run away, his family hadn’t already taken everything from him. That his flight and subsequent days alone had meant _ fuck all _. 

But Sirius _ had _ read the second letter. He’d read it so many times the shape of the letters was burned into his brain. _ There’s something you need to know, _ Regulus said, because Sirius Black couldn’t be allowed to remain _ innocent, _ Merlin personally forbade it, and Sirius wanted so, so badly to hate his little brother in that moment. If only Regulus hadn’t told him, Sirius could have continued running around London in ignorant bliss, and for once in his life that would be enough. But no, Sirius couldn’t even have that, because after however many days of suffering and humiliation his brother saw fit to inform him that he was already too late, that he was finally, finally, _ just like them– _

In a fit of rage, Sirius hurled the letter away from him. He sat there for a minute, still dry heaving, staring at the cursed letter that somehow managed to ruin everything for him. A garbage heap was too good for it. Fury built in his stomach like a fire waiting to light, and all of a sudden the letters were on fire. If he’d been in a better state of mind, he would’ve taken a moment to think about what state of mind he must be in to have his first bout of accidental magic since he’d started Hogwarts. But then, if he’d been in a better state of mind, he wouldn’t be in the middle of burning letters to begin with. 

White smoke drifted skywards as the letters crumbled into ash. A car rumbled down the road. It was fortunate that no one, not the police and not his family, found him then, because Sirius would’ve just stared dully, eyes glazed over. 

Another owl flew overhead, carrying another innocent-looking letter for Sirius. Distantly, Sirius recognized the bird as Andromeda’s owl, Vivian, a brown-feathered Eurasian eagle-owl. Vivian began to hoot angrily when Sirius refused to take the letter, but he couldn’t even look at the letter.

“I don’t want to hear it,” he said hollowly. 

Vivian continued to bother him, thrusting the letter in his face. Sirius was never quite sure how much owls really understood. Finally, his eyes drifted up to see the offended owl, and then down to the offered letter. All of a sudden, a wild, feral fury seized him. 

“I don’t WANT IT!” Sirius roared, lunging up until he was kneeling on the ground, fists clenched. Andromeda’s letter had burst into flames on the third word, and the poor owl finally dropped it. The burning letter fluttered down to join its predecessors in a small pile of ash. 

_ I don’t know what happened, _Andromeda had written, but Sirius would never read those words, and Sirius hadn’t known what had happened either. He couldn’t even regret knowing, because this secret was bound to come out eventually, and if Sirius didn’t know it would only go worse for him. He would resent Regulus all he wanted for being the one to tell him, but Regulus had in the end chosen the better of two outcomes for him. Perhaps it was for the better that Sirius didn’t read his cousin’s offer then, because in that moment he would’ve rejected any offer out of hand. 

The owl gave Sirius one last angry hoot before turning and flying away. Sirius’ gray eyes watched his cousin’s letter wither away before his eyes. Whatever it was, he didn’t want it. Nothing from his family could be good. He’d trusted Regulus and read his damn letter, and where had that gotten him? One foot lashed out and scattered the pile of ashes. 

Was it still a good idea to go to the Potters’ house? Sirius didn’t even have to think about the right answer: no. James was bound to find out if Sirius spent too much time with him, and James could not be allowed to find out. None of his friends should. Sirius couldn’t bear to lose them. But how could he hide this secret from them all year? And the year after that, and the year after that? All of a sudden, Sirius understood how Remus must have felt, trying desperately to keep anyone from knowing that he was a werewolf. Except that Remus had never chosen to become a werewolf. Lycanthropy was a curse, inflicted by Fenrir Greyback on a child. Sirius didn’t have that excuse. 

_ This was their plan, _ Sirius realized, and leaned sideways to throw up again. They wanted him to come running back with his tail between his legs, and Merlin did they make sure to get rid of his other options. He couldn’t possibly go to his friends now. How was he supposed to explain this to them? He didn’t know what it could do. He didn’t even know what it _ meant. _

A series of memories hit Sirius then; starting with just a few minutes ago when he read ‘superior care of the Blacks’ and almost laughed, continuing on to when the police arresting him called him “Segal Barnaby” and he almost laughed, and then ending on Sirius just a few days ago assuring Regulus that he knew what he was doing, without a hint of humor.

And finally, Sirius laughed. Because _ Merlin _ what a joke. What a lie. What an _ idiot _ he had been. What else could he do but laugh at poor little innocent Sirius who stood up proudly and oh-so confidently before his younger brother and told him _ I know what I’m doing? _ And so Sirius laughed and laughed at his stupid, sheltered, idiot of a younger self. He laughed until he doubled over, stomach aching and ruined hair falling in his face. He laughed until his wretched laughs turned into uncontrollable hysterical giggles stained with Black madness, and tears rolled unbidden down his cheeks. He laughed because he could see now where it had all gone wrong: from the moment he defied his family. He laughed at innocent, foolish Sirius, who still thought he could escape his family’s shadow, who still _ (goodness, do you think he suspects?) _had no idea just how much would go wrong, or how far he’d fall. 

Sirius didn’t know when he finally stopped, only that the sun had long since set, and the pitifully few stars of the London night sky had risen above him. Not a single person came across Sirius in all that time. And with the truth out, he could finally acknowledge how ruined his life had become, finally see how futile all his plans were. He couldn’t even imagine going to his friends like this. Maybe he _ should _ just run back to his parents with his tail between his legs. He wasn’t going to escape their influence even if he didn’t return; Regulus’ second letter was proof of that. Maybe he _ would _run back to them, except he didn’t even know where home was anymore. 

He no longer had anyone to blame for his own miserable state but himself. Sirius started crying again at this realization; at the thought that his younger self could be so arrogant and so _ stupid _ that he was now crying in a Muggle alley as a result. He hadn’t the faintest clue what he was going to do now, and he no longer cared. He didn’t know how long it would take his friends to figure it out, but if he did go back to Hogwarts (and that was only _ if _he did), then he was sure they would eventually. And Sirius didn’t believe for one second that they would still be friends afterwards. He couldn’t even let himself hope for understanding. He’d been hoping to escape the Blacks for the past few days, and where had that gotten him? Hope for Sirius Black was crushing. Hope was lethal. 

Slowly, Sirius sank to the ground. His knees went up while his back slid flat on the ground. He folded his shaking arms over his chest. He stared up at the stars with tear-stained eyes and wondered dimly if he would have the strength to get up tomorrow morning. He found he didn’t particularly care either way. 

Sunrise would arrive eventually, just as it had the day before and would come the day after, and wash away the stars and the ash of the night. But the stars would recede knowing that they’d left Sirius crying in an alley, just as they’d promised. And the vomit and the ashes of his own mistakes would literally surround him, in neat piles of burnt words that had destroyed him. 

And Sirius Black would lie broken in the alley, waiting for the dawn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aight guys it gets better from here on out

**Author's Note:**

> pls leave comment thx


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